


Vindication

by Endee, girlsloveyaoi



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Blood will be spilled, Character Death, Connor is a derp, Crazy stuff, F/M, Graphic Violence, Haytham is not the rapist, Haytham's A+ parenting skills, M/M, Modern AU, PTSD, RP, Racist themes, Rape too, References to drug use and prostition, Slavery themes, There will be additional warnings per chapter when necessary, This will probably be a very long story, Trauma and recovery, Very dark themes!, Very dark!, incest themes, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 483,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endee/pseuds/Endee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsloveyaoi/pseuds/girlsloveyaoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BACK FROM HIATUS AND NOW WITH ART! - They didn't desire a relationship. Linked by blood, Haytham and Connor were bound only by one interest and nothing else. A one minute occurrence changes the source of their relationship, changing who they are, what they stand for, and offering a final chance of vindication.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT 12-04-2016: we're back, after a hiatus of exactly three years and one week! We're both very excited to be working on this story again, and to finally see it finished. We've always said we would continue one day and give Vindication the ending it deserves, though that ending is still a while away. There's a lot of stuff in the planning and we hope that despite our long hiatus, new chapters are still something you guys are looking forward to. It's good to be back!  
> I've also turned my old blog - http://simplyconnorific.tumblr.com/ - into a Vindication blog, where all the news/art/drabbles/updates/anything relating to Vindication will be posted, so if you don't want to miss out on anything then that's the place to go. Asks are also enabled, if you want to answer the cast questions, they'll be answered in character.  
> Girlsloveyaoi's tumblr is still http://simplyhaythamtastic.tumblr.com/ so give her a follow as well! :D  
> -=-=-=-  
> This is a collaborative effort between me (NecrosisDemon) and girlsloveyaoi. As this is a RP between us two and it's a fairly long story, I did not edit it in such a way it can be read as a normal story. It's simply too big for that. There are still separate posts, separated by a -=-=-=- line. Please don't let this scare you off, it doesn't impair on how this reads. Those who follow our RPs on y!gallery are used to the format.
> 
> No warnings for this chapter. This is my first time posting on AO3 and we hope you enjoy. Still unbéta'd, any typos you find are our own. They'll be fixed once I can be bothered to read this a second time. XD
> 
> Connor is played by NecrosisDemon. Haytham is played by Girlsloveyaoi. All other characters are played by us both.
> 
> You can find a Chinese translation by Rogerlock here: http://tieba.baidu.com/p/2220594651 (note, still a work in process)

“-I want your completed essays on the Seven Year's War on my desk on Tuesday, no excuses. That means you too, Mr. Miles. Off you go.”

The scraping of chairs over the floor filled the classroom as the students quickly gathered their things and rushed to get out, to celebrate the freedom of weekend. One person remained seated, slumped over his desk while plucking at a dirty corner of his book. Today he was going to do it... or at least, that's what he kept telling himself. Deciding to do it was one thing, actually doing it was on a whole different level. But it wouldn't leave his mind... ever since he had read in the newspaper that the Kenway Corporation – the largest business in the world for nuclear medicine and radioactive pharmaceuticals – would be opening a new head office in New York and that Mr. Kenway himself would be taking the top seat there... of course the name didn't have to _mean_ anything. Plenty of people with the name Kenway, could be a coincidence, probably was... but whenever he asked mother about it she would skirt around the issue and avoid answering.

And that left him with even more questions. Mother had never told him his father's first name, why she wouldn't say, and she had always been secretive about what kind of a man he was, and what he did for a living. 

Connor had never met his father, had never talked to him, didn't even know what he looked like. He knew that his mother kept in touch with him, but only sporadically.

Never even so much as a happy birthday from him... or a 'congratulations' when he graduated. Nothing.

And if this guy, this... _Mr. Kenway_ , really was his father, then that would make it even worse. Such a rich, powerful bastard... and he couldn't even be bothered to financially support his family. Connor could care less about himself, he just wanted to see his mother happy, to see her stop worrying about their financial troubles. He wasn't interested in meeting his father... but he would talk to the guy to get him to pay his part like he should and clearly hadn't!

Of course, assuming that Mr. Kenway of Kenway Corporations truly was his father. That was still up for debate.

“You coming, Connor?”

A hand pressed down on his shoulder and Connor looked up, staring right into the face of his best friend and geeky history nerd Shaun Hastings, looking at him with a slightly worried look in his eyes. Clearing his throat Connor nodded and pushed his chair back, hastily beginning to stuff his books back in his bag. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?” he asked as he stuffed a book inside with more force than was necessary.

“Well are you still going through with it?”

No answer. Connor hoisted his bag over his shoulder and waved at his history teacher, professor Davenport before leaving the classroom. Shaun followed closely behind him. “Look I know you want to meet your dad and all-”

“I don't want to _meet_ my dad, Shaun. I want nothing to do with him. I do this for my mother.”

“Yeah okay, fair enough, but what are you going to say to the guy, Connor? You can't just run up to him and say, 'Hey, I'm your long lost son, lets go out camping and have some bonding time!' especially when you don't even know if he's really your dad. And-”

Shaun's hand on his shoulder stopped him and Connor sighed... he wasn't in the mood for this, he had already made up his mind and nothing his friend could say would dissuade him from it. 

“How are you even going to get to him, Connor? He's a fancy suit, you're not even going to get past the security at the front door, let alone the lobby.”

“I'll figure something out.”

“Con-”

“See you next week, gotta run!”

Shaun was a good guy and a great friend... but he was too pushy sometimes. Leaving his friend in the hallway Connor quickly ran towards the University's exit, dodging around students and professors alike. The new Kenway Corporation tower was only two blocks away by bus and though he had seen it on TV before, it... really looked a lot bigger from up close. Craning his neck he couldn't even see the top.

Shifting his bag he eyed the entrance and the grumpy looking security guard that accompanied it. Various men and women in suits and other fancy outfits carrying briefcases walked in and out of the building, most of them with a cellphone attached to their ears and Connor was instantly aware of the image he must present, with his dirty boots and his long, weathered coat flapping in the strong autumn winds. Taking a deep breath he brushed a stray strand of jet black hair behind his ear, so stubborn it would never stay in his braid, and walked up the steps.

For a second he feared that the guard would stop him but all he did was give him dirty, wary looks and Connor quickly brushed past him into the lobby.  
The bright light and clean white floor inside nearly blinded him and he looked up, taking in the many elevators, escalators and more fancy business people one could shake a fist at. Just the lobby alone was huge and almost intimidating... despite the directional signs everywhere he wouldn't even know where to go... except outside again, though that wasn't an option. He was here now, so he wasn't-

“Can I help you?”

Connor whirled around and looked around before spotting a woman sitting behind a desk. She looked to be some kind of secretary and she was looking straight at him, nodding as she caught his gaze. Swallowing thickly Connor made his way towards her, noting how she had her hair tightly tied into a neat bun on her head and nothing in her clothes was wrinkled or out of place. Even her name tag was lined up so precise it was almost unnatural.

“Can I help you?” she asked again and tapped the butt of her pen on the desk. Impatient.

“Um... yes, I'm here to see... um, Mr. Kenway...?”

A thin eyebrow raised and Connor wanted nothing more than to turn around and run away as far as he could, because this was starting to feel like a bad idea. A very bad idea.

“Right, and do you have an appointment?”

“Well... no, but-”

A sigh. “I see. Mr. Kenway is a very busy man, sir. If you want to see him you will have to make an appointment, though I can't see how someone of your...” A quick glance up a down, taking in the mud on his boots and the frayed edges of his school bag. “-stature would even stand a chance.”

“Hey now, just me hear me out alright? Mr. Kenway is-”

“You do remember where the exit is, do you? Or do I have to call security?”

“But-” People were staring, he noticed. Looking around he saw that people had actually stopped and were staring at him, looking so out of place. Oh fuck he should totally get out of here while he still could. He should never have come here, he should – he caught how the woman behind the desk reached for a phone, no doubt to call security and Connor reacted before he even knew what was happening, reaching over the desk and snatching her wrist to stop her. “No wait, he's my dad!”

-=-=-=-

She blinked, once, then twice, unable to hold in the rolling chuckle to escape her mouth. Half the lobby heard, words rolling off the wall with an echo. She stood with a simple clack of high heels, amusement gleaming in her dark eyes. "Yes, yes of course _you_ are. I'm sure the other five hundred or so persons claiming as much per year actually _are_ as well. How Mr. Kemway manages all of his children and lovers while on such a tight schedule is beyond us all."

A sneer, and she picked up the phone once more, pressing a small dispatch button to alert security. As if a Kenway would appear rustic and in such attire, if the worn coat and mud stained boots could be called as much.

~*~

"We're still on for dinner Thursday, right?" 

A gleaming smile beckoned his friend, the two casually walking into a pristine elevator. "Of course, Charles, you're a horrible gambler if I've ever seen one. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to watch you loose a massive paycheck."

"Flatterer." 

Haytham said nothing, eying the landscape from his glass elevator, the Empire State building in clear sight despite its distance. The cars below hummed by, taxis a whiz of yellow when not coming to halt at lights, pedestrians a flutter with cell phones and brief cases. A sense of hurry, hustle and bustle. He’d grown more than accustomed to as much, even if his last day had been decades ago. The city scape changed little, save for the absence of a few buildings. And people.

Fingers twitched and stopped as instantaneously as they began, hand hovering near his phone. Another time, perhaps when he grew accustomed to the city, he'd say hello once more. It had been a few months now, he should write something to her.

Fingers clacked away quickly, Charles answering his own phone as they descended further, the text message brief.

_Hello. Hope all is well with you. How's the boy? Do you require assistance of some sort?_ Financial, economical, to the point- he could provide anything they'd. So long as they didn't ask for the impossible.

He could hear the commotion behind heavy doors, Charles raising an eyebrow in question. "What do you suppose it's about now?"

"Couldn't imagine, really." Wryly, he adjusted the navy blue suit jacket, pressed white dress shirt rustling as he stepped out. Charles would tell him to wait until security cleared, but it was of little use. Haytham got what he wanted, simple as that.

"He is my father, I'm not lying!"

Brows furrowed, and dark eyes rolled as Haytham watched security from a distance. Oh bother, not this again.

Larger men in uniform escorted what appeared to be a very tan young man- from a distance he observed a blur of color in dark hair, and with a few long strides he recognized them as beads, a feather looming in dark hair, tousled into a face that bore his features.

His features...

Blood ran cold in his veins, but Haytham stood his ground and watched the young man getting pulled from his building, boots leaving a trail of mud in his wake as he struggled still. He felt Charles before he saw him, shaking his head. "Oy, there goes another loon. What does that make, claim number seven this month?"

"Eighth." Nonchalant and poised, the young man fought still, with conviction. "Excuse me a moment, Charles." With lead filled legs he approached, face as pleasantly neutral as always. "That's enough, no need to be too rough." The secretary turned to him, bewildered but respectful. 

"Sir?"

"I'd like a word with the lad, alone." It wasn't particularly surprising, he did this from time to time with the obviously less fortunate ones, and the secretary nodded, casting the boy a glare. He didn't deserve the kindness. 

"Of course sir."

-=-=-=-

“Come along, sir!” Two strong pairs of hands grabbed him by his arms and began dragging him away from the desk towards the exit. Connor dug his heels into the tiled floor, dragging mud over the clean white ceramic as he struggled and pulled against their hold. 

“No wait! Wait! Just let me talk to him!”

“Not a chance, kid!”

Goddammit! Twisting around Connor managed to wring his arm free from the guard and quickly jerked himself loose, running back towards the secretary. She reeled backwards in her chair as he slammed his hands on the desk. “Just tell him that Connor Kenway was here! He'll know the name! Promise you'll tell him!”

The woman just looked at him with wide open eyes, clearly thinking that he was some kid of lunatic, and seconds later the two guards seized him again. This time their grip on him was much stronger, more forceful and again they began dragging him back towards the exit doors.

“Tell him!” He yelled at the secretary and winced as the guard's grip on his upper arms turned bruising. They were nearly out of the doors when another fancy suit walked up towards them, raising his hand. "That's enough, no need to be too rough."

Connor frowned, looking the man up and down. Clean, ironed clothes like all the others, minus brief case, with shiny, polished black shoes and an expensive watch around his wrist. What did this guy want?

"I'd like a word with the lad, alone."

The security guards nodded and let go, putting him back on his feet before stepping back, though they lingered near just in case. Connor scowled at them and rubbed his arms – yep that was going to bruise – and looked at the man again. This wouldn't happen to be... him? If that was the case, he honestly couldn't see what his mother saw in him, with his brown hair, slightly beginning to grey at the roots, tied back into a pony tail with a red ribbon – so old fashioned.

Repositioning his bag so that the strap sat more comfortably on his shoulder he pushed his hands into his pockets and waited. He doubted the man wanted a word with him here, in the lobby with everyone still watching and the secretary and the guards still scowling at him.

There was another man standing behind the first one, with greasy black hair sticking to his skull, but he didn't seem to be the one in control.

He looked at the first man again and twitched his fingers. Had to be him... who else would bother to talk to him if he wasn't? “You're Kenway?”

-=-=-=-

An up and down glance over, followed by an eye roll. Ah, a charming one at that, but Haytham was nothing if not patient. He allowed the boy a few moments, letting him adjust to his surroundings, prepared to turn heel and walk with him to a more secluded lounge, the type of place with comfortable chairs and perhaps a snag of food about. Dealing with these situations often, he'd developed a sort of routine handling them, growing accustomed-

"You're Kenway?"

Well, he certainly wasn't accustomed to one so blunt. Nor rude; the boy asked it with a flat, completely uncaring tone, an accusation more than a question, as if he expected something much more than the man before him. He hadn't been addressed in such a manner in a long, long time.

"Yes, yes I am." He turned to walk regardless, signaling for Charles to stay put when he made an attempt to follow, and made a bee line towards the lounge. A short distance and a shut door away, he sat in an overstuffed leather chair, loosening his watch and tie as he always did, and watched dark, unimpressed eyes meet him from the seat adjacent.

Ziio told no lies. The occasional picture she sent him did the boy no justice; they bore the same lips and nose, the same strong jaw, but with enough of Ziio's genes to prevent questioning. Darker and brooding, he took on the few scant freckles and darker complexion of his mother, looking at him with what was her brown eyes.

He lips twitched upwards but he fought it. Evidently, her short, brisk attitude was also inherited.

Part of him thought maybe she put him up to this, but it made no sense; even with his move back to the States, Ziio simply wasn't that type. He'd offered money, shelter, finer clothing, a better place to live, anything tangible, and save for the rare funds kept, she rejected them all, to his displeasure. No, blackmail wasn't her style, she was far too forthright and blunt. So what was this really about?

He stood to ready tea. No leaves here but the bags he had bought were of reasonable quality, and he sat with grace, extending his arm pleasantly. "And to who do I owe the pleasure of conversing?" As if he didn't really know.

-=-=-=-

Right, well, that was clear. Connor followed, sparing Charles a glance as the man attempted to follow before stopping, and walked into the lounge as Haytham closed the door behind them. This room wasn't as blindingly white and unnatural looking as the lobby but it was still too fancy for his tastes.

He ran a finger over the back of one of the leather chairs as he looked at the fireplace, the hard wooden table, the decorations, not even wanting to know how much it had all cost. No doubt he and mom could have paid rent for half a year with all the money that had gone into this room alone.

Watching Haytham take a seat and begin to take off his watch and tie, Connor gritted his teeth and slipped his bag's strap down his shoulder, setting it on the ground next to an empty chair before sitting down in it himself – the leather creaked under his weight and whenever he moved, indicating that it was still new. Comfortable though... very comfortable. 

Drumming his fingers on the arm rests Connor met his father's gaze without a flinch, letting him stare all he wanted or felt necessary. He wondered what the man was thinking, whether he already knew who he was and why he was here. Would he even be taken seriously? If was obvious that the bastard didn't even care... perhaps this was all a waste of time anyway.

He watched as Haytham stood up to prepare tea and he raised his eyebrows – and here Shaun always insisted that they should stop making fun of the whole 'British-people-are-addicted-to-tea' just because he liked the stuff, and here was Kenway, clearly a Brit with that accent... preparing tea.

Connor snorted behind his hand and cleared his throat, folding his fingers and resting them in his lap. “Can't you guess?” he fired back. Clearly not. “Do you even realize who I am? I'm assuming you at least _know_ of my existence even though you have never bothered to acknowledge it... _dad_.” He spat out the last word and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as his fixed his father with an angry stare. “What I'm here to find out is why you left mom. Why you left her to fend for herself raising me for twenty years. You came back here to New York a few weeks ago with your fancy tower and your fancy suits and you haven't even bothered to make contact!”

Slamming his hands on the arm rests of the chair Connor suddenly rose to his feet and jabbed a finger in Haytham's direction, lips pulled back into an angry grimace, eyes narrowed. “Why did you abandon mom?”

-=-=-=-

Well, so much for niceties. It was worth a try, though he should have known better. Ziio raised him after all, sharp as a tack.

The pleasant smile faded into an empty mask of nothingness, the word used as weapon, not that he expected any less. He and Ziio had agreed never to mention what had happened, who he was, why he didn’t stay even though he had _wanted_ to. Ziio kept her word. A good woman, truly, with good intentions always.

Though it seemed the latter point was moot, Haytham stayed silent through the accusations, looking at the finger directed at his chest. And as horrible as he felt for saying it, it had to be said.

"I don't know you're name, I'm afraid." His face remained blank, voice holding a soft tone to it. "I never asked, she never told me. As for the rest, that is between her and I. There are some things children are simply not meant to know." Pale grey eyes stared into the brown depths before him, offering nothing but a cold and blank demeanor in the face of passionate rage.

"If you need assistance, financial or otherwise, by all means contact me. " He glanced at the bag on the floor, a second hand text book poking out. "Tuition, books- education is of the utmost importance- a car, insurance for it, an apartment, whatever you need. I've no problem providing you with the very best, or your mother for that matter." Who had clearly lied about her financial burdens, something he'd address in his own way.

"Ziio will tell you how to contact me for necessities. Until then, good bye and good luck." Like he would to any stranger, he simply shut the stove and walked away, keeping his eyes in front of him as he marched towards the door. He was many things; a provider, a business man, a success... but not a father.

That would never change.

-=-=-=-

That stung, learning that Haytham had never even bothered to ask for his son's name. Of course Connor hadn't expected anything else but it still hurt... that showed how much he cared. None. Nothing. Not a penny. Couldn't care less.

He scoffed at the offer for assistance. He wouldn't accept any of it, not for himself anyway. He had a job, he did what he could to help pay for rent and food and bills. Ziio worked too, and together they managed for the most part. Whatever financial aid Haytham was willing to give, he would only accept to help his mother, to stop her worries, nothing more. He could handle himself. His job was only part-time, as a waiter in a lunchroom nearby. Whatever free time he had left after his job and school time was spent on homework and studying... he looked forward to the moments where he actually had time for himself, when he could go out into the woods and escape the chaos of the city. Nature was so much calmer... there was nothing better than just sitting high up in a tree, listening to the sounds of animals skittering through the bushes and the soft trickle of a small nearby stream; it helped him think.

"Ziio will tell you how to contact me for necessities. Until then, good bye and good luck."

Connor frowned and turned his head to watch his father and get up and make for the door. What, that's it? Just like that, thank you, good bye? What a dick! His fingers clenched into the leather, forcing his anger back down. What an asshole... One would think that meeting your father after so many years would be a joyful occasion, yet this wasn't improving his mood at all. Hell, he didn't know his name either... Read it in the newspaper though... something with a H... Harry or Harold or something.

Bah, whatever. Grabbing his bag he stood up and slung it over his shoulder, following after Haytham and sped up his step to reach the door before he did. It was clear that they were done here. “It's Connor, by the way. Thanks for giving a damn.” he hissed as he passed the man and pushed the door open to enter the lobby. He couldn't waste more time here anyway, his shift would start in less than an hour and he hadn't even dropped off his things yet.

He had no more time to waste on his lousy excuse of a father.

-=-=-=-

Haytham expected a lot of things, again, he was accustomed to this. Granted this was the first child he was responsible for rearing but it was nothing out of the ordinary.

He didn't need to give the boy an explanation, about his mother and what had happened decades ago, her decision and his plight… there was a reason he took no part in his son's life. He had reservations at first but they fled as Ziio gave him ample time in his younger years, time focus on success, power, and wealth. Everything he fought for, he had reached.

“It's Connor, by the way. Thanks for giving a damn.”

He stopped, dead in his tracks, and watched the boy- Connor- disappear through the door, likely to never be seen or heard from again. He wouldn't seek him out, he'd be like his mother; she sent the occasional picture but little else, their e-mails brief. It was better that way. He'd be forgotten as the waste of a father who provided nothing, a tiny blip in the radar of Connor's life.

Composure back in place, he shook his head and grinned at Charles, who shook his head back. "How much money did that one want?"

"Oh, not much, it never does take much." Waving to his secretary, he picked up his pace, walking out the doors Connor fled through moments prior, Charles on his heels. That was the last he'd hear of him, the last time he'd deal with him. To more important matters, to bigger and better things as it were.

To laughing at Charles folly and horrible luck at gambling, to a night taking in the sights, the smell of salt wafting as gulls chirped their last for the evening. As the sun faded the lights beckoned bright, alcohol abundant and lovers waiting, wanting, and willing. The world was at his doorstep, the sky was his view point.

Yet he looked down at the people on the street below from the sky line view of his office. He had everything he'd set to achieve so very long ago.

The minutes ticked by, his fingers lightly tapping the mouse-less pad of his laptop, screen emanating a glow in the darkness. A few brief clicks and there it was, a face to the name at long last, the first picture Ziio sent him. The first time she contacted him in almost six years.

A meadow, one he had recognized as one they frequented with a particularly twisting tree covered in moss. There he was, on a tattered blanket, attempting to touch the hare right beyond his feet. The scanned picture still bore the date; he was five at the time. He remembered the letter, brief, and his own response an odd month later, a paraphrased _yes he's a handsome lad._ That was all they'd written for three months to follow.

His fingers shook as they dialed- no way she'd have the same number, but she may. Such a creature of habit, she may have kept it...

Twice, three times, four then five, almost to the answering machine before it picked up, the dead pan voice deeper, tired, but the same. _"Who are you and why are you calling at this hour?"_

Haytham could but smile, reclining in his seat. "Connor? Really Ziio, you could pick no better name?"

-=-=-=-

As expected, Connor did not try to contact his father a second time. It was clear from the things Haytham had told him that he and Ziio had decided that for whatever reason, it was best he grew up not knowing a single bit about his father. Why, he couldn't even fathom. It made no sense. Children needed not only a mother when growing up, but a father as well. They needed a male figure in their life, and he never had one, not a real one anyway...

Not knowing who his father was had always bothered him a little, but it wasn't until Haytham had moved to New York permanently that those bitter feelings had begun growing like a tumor.

After his visit he had gone to his job acting like nothing had happened. He had kept it from his mother, not telling her that he had found the guy who was his father on paper and by blood, but not in anything else. She clearly hadn't wanted him to know, so why worry her with it?

The only two people he did tell was Shaun, and Myriam, his other best friend and nature buddy. They had both reacted pretty much as he had expected them too, with genuine interest, curious to what kind of person Haytham was, Shaun asking what it was like meeting the rich father you had never known and Myriam wanting to know whether he was hot or not (he had chosen not to answer that one). Both offered their sympathies and exchanged wincing looks when he told them that it hadn't changed anything, except giving him a face to the man he had always considered an useless asshole. Which he truly was.

They had both given him his word to keep it a secret and to never speak of it again, and though they kept giving him worrying glances whenever Haytham or Kenway Corporation was mentioned on the news or by people passing by making the occasional joke about him and Haytham sharing the same last name, Connor was glad they kept their word and remained silent about it.

He didn't want to talk about it, and they respected that, as true friends did. Life kept going and Haytham Kenway wasn't going to change that.

~*~

It was a week after his disastrous meeting with his father when Connor returned home from his evening shift. It was pouring outside, a typical New York autumn storm and he was already soaked through and through by the time he reached the small apartment he rented with his mother.

A warm gush of air welcomed him inside as he opened the door and quickly stepped in to escape the rain, closing it behind him. Ziio's voice drifted towards him from the living room as he put his bag on the floor and peeled off his wet jacket, blowing some wet strands of hair out of his face. Oh man he was desperate for a hot shower and dry clothes!

Figuring that Ziio was on the phone with someone Connor remained silent and toed his boots off, shoving them into a corner with the other shoes before making his way to the kitchen – something to drink first, then a shower. As he passed the living room though, he stopped, frowning as he heard his name mentioned. Stepping back he peeked through the door opening, watching his mother pace around near the window with the telephone pressed to her ear. She was talking about him to someone... who...?

“-never told me he had come to find you. I didn't notice anything different about his behavior, he's like he's always been... no... no not like that... I guess. What did he want from you anyway? Did he ask for money?”

Well three guesses who was on the other side! Grinding his teeth together Connor stepped into the living room just as Ziio turned around, eyes widening as she spotted him. 

“Connor, I didn't notice you were home!”

“Give me the phone.”

Ziio clearly hesitated, frowning and glancing at the phone before looking back at her son, who extended his hand with a frustrated look on his face. “I know who it is you're talking to, mom. Please give me the phone.”

Her frown deepened and again she hesitated before sighing deeply. “It's Connor, he wants to talk to you.” she said into the speaker before handing the phone to Connor, who promptly canceled the call with a press of a button without even bothering to say something to Haytham.

“Connor!”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

His soft tone caught her off guard and for a moment she could only stare and watch as Connor placed the phone back into its charger before turning to face her again. “You must have known I would find out eventually. I did. So why?”

With another deep sigh Ziio rubbed her forehead and sank down onto the couch – this was not what she had expected to have to deal with when she woke up this morning. “Your father and I... we first thought it best if grew up not knowing-”

“How could you ever think that was best?!”

“Connor, let me finish! Do not interrupt me.”

Grumbling Connor flopped down into a chair as well and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her with an expectant, angry look in his eyes.

Normally she wouldn't tolerate this rebellious behavior but... this was a sensitive and difficult subject for him, she understood that.

“Haytham and I had been seeing each other on and off for a few months. He was already on his way on becoming very successful, and he didn't have a lot of time.”

“So you were just a fling to him?”

“No. No, nothing like that. He tried to see me whenever he could, but his company was growing fast and it demanded a lot of his time and I understood that. I was patient. And when it happened, it....” she hesitated, remembering her own actions. “It…it was best that you didn’t know.”

“Because of the company? So what, I was an accident to him?”

“No! Of course not! Why would you even say such a thing?”

“Because he doesn't even give a damn about me, about us!”

“That is not true, Connor...”

“Is it?” he hissed back and stood up, hands clenching into fists as he began pacing back and fro. “For twenty years he knew I existed yet he never even bothered to even acknowledge it until I showed up in his face last week! Never a happy birthday, never even a phone call or a message or a card, nothing. He admitted to not even knowing my name because he had never bothered to ask you all those years! If that doesn't scream 'I don't care' I don't know what does!”

“He cares, Connor... he loves you, in his own unique way. He has always been like that...”

“No he doesn't, he brushed me off like I wasn't even worth his time.”

“You caught him off guard, at his work no less. He didn't expect y-”

“It shouldn't matter! If he truly cared, then he would have made time for me!”

“Son...”

“You say he cares. Well, he has a funny way of showing it, except that it isn't funny it all.” With that he abruptly turned around and marched back into the hallway, Ziio following closely behind him where she caught him angrily putting on his boots.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“I'm going out.”

“It's nearly 1AM, you can't g- Connor!” Too late, he had already grabbed his still dripping jacket and pulled it on before opening the door and nearly running down the steps into the torrential rain.

“Connor!” She called again, and again, but he quickly disappeared around a corner and out of sight. Who knew when he would be back... this wasn't the first time Connor had run off because of something that bothered him; he had his favorite spots in the city and in the forest, and sometimes he would go to one of his friend's places... but it never sat well with her. Connor could take care of himself but New York at night was still a dangerous place and he hadn't even taken his wallet, phone or his keys with him this time.

He always returned home at some point after he cooled off, but she would stay awake waiting and worrying until he did, hoping that he wouldn't do something stupid. He was smart, but too naive for his own good at times. It had gotten him into trouble before.

Gently closing the front door Ziio turned on the coffee maker, knowing that she would need a lot of it this night, and then walked back into the living room to pick up the phone, dialing Haytham's number. To explain, to apologize for the abrupt ending of the call, to... talk. She needed to talk. She could only hope that he would pick up.

-=-=-=-

Silence greeted him, Haythams lips twitching as the surprised but calm voice spoke to him for the first time in over twenty years.

_“Haytham?”_ A whisper on her lips, and she almost didn’t believe it, but his accent, the tone of his voice, and the mention of their son… but it couldn’t be, it simply couldn’t be, right?

“Yes, Ziio?”

Another pause, and Ziio found herself breathing heavily, taking refuge in a weather beaten chair. He knew Connor’s name, there wasn’t a reason why he should, unless…

Haytham could practically here her mind processing the information. He gave her time, phone pressed to his cheek as he went through the ten or so pictures she had sent. One could hardly blame her for needing a moment, especially given the circumstances. There was simply so much they had to say, wanted to say, and yet again circumstances prevented them from voicing their minds. Instead, Ziio focused at the task at hand while Haytham focused on the sound of her soft breathing.

In under a minute that voice chimed in again, exhausted around the edges.

_“Did he at least avoid making a scene upon finding you?”_

“Define ‘scene.’”

_“… so it was that bad?”_

“I’m not one to fabricate, Ziio.” Or not to her, anyway, but that went without saying. He could almost hear her sigh, and when she responded she sounded softer yet older. _“How… what happened?”_

“Nothing exciting. Connor has a very direct approach, claiming I’m his father in the middle of the lobby.” 

Ziio’s eyes shut, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Oh yes, that destroyed any doubt in her mind. _“Did security get involved?”_

“He was practically thrown out by them, though I headed him off, brought him to a lounge to speak. Naturally events escalated, as my charming demeanor made itself known.”

_“It couldn’t have been that bad.”_

“Again, conceptualize what ‘that bad’ entails.” Both of them spoke softly, although Haytham was notably colder in his manner. “If it pertains to bodily harm, no, nothing of that nature occurred.” 

The sigh of relief made his eyes narrow- just how many times had Connor reacted negatively to news? A discussion for another time, this was bound to be one of several. That would be all right. “He wanted to know why I abandoned you, him… why I didn’t help financially, things of that nature.” 

She heard the annoyance at the last statement, pinching the bridge of her nose as she paced the kitchen. _“Haytham-”_

“You have your reasons, I’m sure. Hell if I comprehend them but accepting my offered aid is up to your discretion.” His voice softened considerably. “I think he was most offended at my admittance to not knowing his name.”

_“You couldn’t have known it, I know… we know what may have happened if you did.”_

“I know. I remember that decision as well.”

A slight pause and Ziio adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, chilly autumn winds felt through the thin insulation. _“I do… apologize for the inconvenience today.”_

“The event occurred a week ago, Ziio.”

Now that caught her attention. _“A week ago?”_

“I suppose he neglected to mention our encounter then.”

_“He never told me he had come to find you.”_

He frowned, arms crossed over his chest. “ So he always behaves that way?”

She hesitated briefly, not exactly sure how poorly Connor had behaved. _“I didn't notice anything different about his behavior, he's like he's always been...”_

“Borderline murderous?

_“No...”_

“Astoundingly crude?”

_“No… not like that…”_

He tapped his lip in thought, exhaling. “How about sensitive regarding the absence of my permanent departure?” He was being more than generous here, but she was Connor’s mother. His Ziio.

_“... I guess. What did he want from you anyway? Did he ask for money?”_

“More like demanded-”

_“Connor, I didn’t notice you were home!”_

Haytham frowned, glaring at the phone with a raised eyebrow before checking the time. 1AM, just what the hell does a twenty year old do until 1AM? 

A muffled voice, silence, and another muffled voice, Ziio coming in again, clearly distressed in her own, subtle way. _“It’s Connor, he want to talk to you.”_

“Oh, I bet he does. He’d probably like to set fire to my-” The dead dial tone interrupted him, and Haytham blinked at the phone. Well, that was rude, if not mildly entertaining.

For a moment, he considered calling her back, but thought the better of it, shutting his lap top and heading out of his office, walking to his car and heading towards a Starbucks. They needed time to speak, time that didn’t involve him; whether Connor knew it or not, he was lucky to have a parent who cared for him as much as Ziio did. As much as they both did. Perhaps he had no affection to offer, but financially, in terms of safety, he could offer the world. There was no shame in trading emotional support for economic stability. It may not have been something Connor wanted, but he would learn to appreciate it some day. Or not. It mattered little, his feelings on the subject. 

Almost ready to place an order, Haytham stepped out of line when his phone abruptly rang, and he peered down at the number, blinking once before letting it ring just a little more.

“Yes?”

_“… It seems like I owe you another apology.”_

Grey eyes blinked, stepping to the side counter for a brief moment. “You owe me nothing to speak of. Connor is a separate matter, though I’m inclined to let it go if simply to let you handle it.” She had kept a handle on him for twenty years; he had no right to intervene. It wasn’t as if she was being disrespected.

That would change things drastically.

_“Mm.”_ She was always the talkative one via phone, something never changed. He wasn’t much for phones himself, preferring face to face meetings or Skype conferences himself.

After another small stretch of silence an elegant eyebrow raised. “I suppose you have work in the morning?”

_“Oh. I do.”_

Frowning, Haytham ignored the glare of the barista, focusing on the phone. He shouldn’t pry. He shouldn’t care, not after what happened so long ago… but…

“Ziio?”

_“Mm?”_

“What’s wrong?”

_“I didn’t say anything.”_

“Exactly.” The Ziio he knew would have hung up after he asked such a question, or bid him good night, depending on her mood. She wasn’t one to linger conversationally with nothing to say. Notably, there was no commotion from Connor, which meant she either went to a separate room or…

“Let me guess- in my limited experience with the lad, I’m concluding he blew a fit and stormed off?” In the week he had known him he’d done so twice, her silence confirming his thoughts. 

_“He’s normally not like this… it’s the topic, Haytham. It upsets him, I normally wouldn’t put up with this behavior.”_

“You still shouldn’t put up with it now.”

_“Haytham-”_

“What? How does storming off at this horrid hour do anything besides worry you? Ironic, he tells me I’ve no regard for others based on my actions, and look what he does.” Pot, meet kettle much? Besides, Haytham was not an emotional abridger. He provided, the way a father should, so what if he was emotionally unavailable? Connor had a mother for such things. Granted Ziio was probably an advocate of tough love, but Connor seemed to need it.

_“I’m not justifying it, I’m just accepting it for the time being. It’s not like I can do much else, he left his phone, keys, and wallet.”_

Immature, irrational and forgetful. Oh he was dealing with a winner, wasn’t he? “Well, what do you intend to do when he returns?” Besides tan his hide red, honestly, children these days…

_“He has to return first to find out. I’ll let you know when he does.”_

“Meaning, you’re waiting up for him?”

_“I am.”_

“When do you work tomorrow?”

_“From eight to four, then six to eleven.”_

“Well, that’s a nice bit of over time.”

_“Two separate jobs.”_

“… Ah.” Of course they were, she couldn’t afford to live in the city, either. He stared at his iPhone for a moment, looking at his watch and shoes after wards. Yet she wouldn’t accept his help, she’d rather deny herself than accept help from him.

_“I’ll leave you to your dreams; you probably have conferences in the morning.”_ There was no bite to her words, the dial tone ending abruptly. They’d never been good at good byes, either of them. The last one had almost ended in disaster.

Haytham placed his order, watching the torrential downpore, the random flash of lightening across the darkened sky. Somewhere, his son was out in this horrid weather. Somewhere, Ziio would be waiting, all night, for him to return. Both would probably remain alone for some time.

Fingers hit his keypad, rapidly typing in two words white pages. Her number was entered next, and he grinned, copying the information and mapping via google. A forty three minute drive, probably quicker this time at night. He wondered, off hand, if she still favored autumn flavors, the savory-ness of pumpkin or the crisp, tart flavor of apple.

Only one way to be sure.

~*~

Lifting his phone to his ear, he didn’t bother covering himself after he parallel parked, taking in the small line of weather beaten cottages. Not the worst neighborhood, he supposed, far enough from the city to be grassy, green and more populated with trees, close enough to have houses in a cluster.

Rain hit his face sideways, drenched hair sticking to his neck. The jacket he had worn now covered his beverages and a small paper bag, the white of his dress shirt growing more translucent with every bit of rain. One could make out the plains of his abdominals; the dip of his navel if they gazed at him from under a dimming street lamp. 

She picked up on the third ring, tired but very awake. _“Haytham?”_ She caught on quick, as always.

“Open your front door.”

A blink, and Ziio sat up further from the comfort of her couch. _“… Why?”_

“Because I’d prefer not to fracture your lock by breaking in.” A pause and she sprinted, listening to his voice. “Locks are expensive to replace and seeing as you don’t accept my money, I wouldn’t want you paying for-“  
The door swung open, the pitter of rain pelting him still, and she stood in awe of him. Drenched, tall as ever, squared shoulders and clean shaven, pale grey eyes that held a minor glimpse of amusement, probably at her own parted lips, tousled hair, and oversized shirt.

Of course he would still look like that.

Twenty years, twenty years and some months, and all they could do was look at each other. Funny, he often imagined what he would say upon seeing her again. Something suave, perhaps something humorous in his cold, cynical way. She liked his satire, after all.

Instead, he found himself staring into the brown eyes of a woman a fair almost foot shorter than he, long black hair falling in waves, brown eyes wide but beginning to descend to normal size, her mouth shutting itself. A feather dangled from a thread, beads together, woven into a single, small braid in the side of her hair.  
The art of dialogue was lost on him. Then again, she occasionally had that effect on him. The truest friend he ever knew, one of two he ever loved.

“Yes, Ziio, I’d love to come inside and not catch my death.” The eye roll and belated, discreet grin were so worth being soaked to the bone it ached, but he kept his jubilation muted, his lips twitching for just a moment before settling into their normal line.

He followed her into the kitchen after toeing off his shoes, placing his jacket on the back of a chair before setting the food out. “The yellow seed cake is lemon poppy, the muffin is cranberry orange, the bread is pumpkin-“

“The cider is apple.”

That time he did grin. “I’m a creature of habit.” 

She shut her eyes and inhaled, grabbing what she knew was a pumpkin coffee of some sort, extra cinnamon. “You remembered.” It was simply stated.

“Obviously.”

“Shut up, Haytham.”

“Why, are there any tomahawks lying around?”

“That was an accident; I didn’t think you’d move after I specifically told you not to.”

“Yes, because when one has a tomahawk thrown at them the best idea is to stay perfectly still.”

The end result was a towel hitting him the head, much to his amusement. Twenty years, and it was like they had seen each other only yesterday. Not just to him, either.

Any awkward feelings or premonitions faded as he took a seat, Ziio across from him, watching him take around the somewhat dilapidated surroundings with an increasing frown.

“Haytham, don’t.”

“I won’t. Not today at least.” He paused, sipping at his now cold beverage, a truth he ignored.

“When you said good bye that day, I was sure it was permanent.” Again, her tone lacked judgment, merely a soft statement. She wasn’t the emotional type, nor he. It made talking that much easier.

“Perhaps I should have said 'see you later'.” 

A twitch of her lips, and he began toweling his hair dry. “I’ll get another towel, get undressed. I’ll put your clothes in the dryer.” 

“Mm. It’s not necessary… but thank you.” He undressed none the less, letting her do as she pleased, towel firmly wrapped around his waist as he sat back down, a blanket offered to him. “Call in tomorrow, I don’t want you going without proper sleep.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ll match the pay.”

“Haytham.”

“We’ll be up talking for a while, until Connor gets back.”

“That could be a day.”

“Good thing I brought coffee.” Again that small smile and eye roll, though he seethed at Connor’s seeming lack of respect for his mother. To be addressed later. “Will you at least let me take you in the morning, and call out to the second one?” He ignored the gaze he received. “I will personally stop by and tell them why.”

“Really?” She wasn’t surprised, just interested to see if he would.

“Swear on my life.”

“… And you’ll take me to dinner?” That caught him off guard and she elaborated gently. “I can’t explain everything to you in just five hours.”

“Wherever you’d like to go then.” Silence, and they sipped their respective drinks, Haytham head resting in his hand as his elbow planted himself on the table, waiting for Ziio to speak, watching her hesitate.

“I want to say hello to you, but it doesn’t seem right if you never truly said goodbye.”

“… Perhaps, welcome back would suffice in its place.”

Another pause and they shared a moment in the silence eyes meeting again, a kindness for each other reflected, a bond little truly shared between them.

“Welcome back, Haytham. Now, where do I begin?"

-=-=-=-

She told him everything, and he listened simply out of respect. They hadn't seen each other in twenty years and now it all came out. They shared fond memories, from before when they were still together, and after wards. She told him of how Connor grew up, what he was like as a baby, as a child and as a teenager, providing more details on the little snippits she had shared with him in the past – even going so far as to dig up an old photo album out of a cabinet and show it to him. Might as well, now that he was here.

Haytham wasn't the kind of man to show emotional attachment to a person. She knew he did, in a way, but it was always hard to see. Even now he looked at the photos like he would look at a work report or a newspaper; with an interest that was almost strictly business and nothing more.

But it was alright. That was just who he was. Most saw him as a cold business man. Ziio knew that it ran deeper.

She talked about her own jobs though she staved off details, avoiding any unpleasant topics or anything that could lead to the topic of 'money', and inquired about Haytham's own work. What he was working on now, how the company was doing, how Charles was doing... Ziio had never been fond of the man but he was a close friend of Haytham, even back then when they first met so she asked.

She told him how Connor had always had a fondness of nature and animals even as a small boy. That he did well in school, not amazing but good enough. That he didn't have a lot of friends but the two he had were the best friends a man could wish for, loyal and always there when you needed them. Shaun he had met in college but he had grown up with Myriam as a kid... and she hoped that one day they would grow to be something more than just best friends.

She told him that Connor accepted his responsibilities and did his share of chores in the house, and that he worked a job next to his school hours, under the mum that it was to help pay for rent but she knew that it was for something else as well. He had made it no secret that he wished to go to England one day for his studies and that he was saving up for the trip. He had never shown any real interest in his roots other than those on his mother's side until a year ago, during a large school project about England's royal house.

Of course, with the whole current situation, Connor finally having met his British father and clearly not being impressed by him at all, whether he still wanted to know about his English roots was up for debate. That didn't change the fact that he still wanted to visit England for his studies, but still...

She told him how Connor liked to go out camping in the wildlife reserves with his friend Myriam and go out hunting with her during the hunting seasons, and capturing them on camera off season. Connor was often like a monkey, always climbing trees, fences and walls whenever he could, for whatever reason. He had done that as a child as well and she had let him, there was no harm in it as long as he was careful. 

He was a bit of a loner, preferring to hang around with Shaun and Myriam or alone instead of participating in group events at school. He rarely went out partying and drinking for which she was grateful, she had never seen him drunk before. 

It was nearing five in the morning when a knock finally sounded on the door. Ziio looked up from the coffee she was pouring for Haytham, having long lost count of the number of cups so far, and frowned. The dryer had finished with Haytham's clothes long ago, but he was still seated in her kitchen wearing nothing but a towel and a blanket to keep warm. He hadn't brought it up, and so she hadn't either... yet, because if she was brutally honest with herself she didn't particularly mind this, though she'd die before ever letting Haytham or anyone else know that.

Another knock and Ziio quickly set the coffee pot away, excusing herself to Haytham before running out of the kitchen into the hallway. Could it be...?

Fumbling with the key and sliding the locks she yanked the door open and there he was, on the doorstep and shivering in the cold. The rain had slowed down to a drizzle but Connor was drenched through and through; it was clear that he hadn't gone to a friend's house. Wherever he had been these last four hours, it had been outside.

All the anger she had felt for making her worry so much disappeared as she looked at him, her son waiting for permission to enter the house and escape the cold. She couldn't stay angry at him looking like this, soaked through the bone and miserable.

She sighed and stepped aside to invite him in. “Get inside. You'll catch a cold like this if you stay out much longer.”

The look in Connor's eyes was almost longing, for the warmth the house had to offer but still he hesitated. “Mom, I-”

“Not now.”

“But I want to apo-”

“We can talk later, son.” Her tone softened considerable and again she gestured him inside. “Now come along. I'll get you some dry clothes while you take a hot shower, alright? You must be freezing.”

He didn't push it this time and gratefully stepped inside, relishing the warmth as Ziio closed the door behind him. He seemed too tired to notice Haytham in the kitchen as she rushed him passed it towards the bathroom, and that was probably for the best. Connor wouldn't respond positive to his father's presence here, no doubt about it. Of course, that meant getting Haytham's dry clothes out of the dryer without Connor noticing and send him on his way before he finished his shower. They could talk later... he had promised her dinner after all.

“Here, take this off. I'll put it in the dryer for you later.”

“I can do it myself, mom.” Connor answered as he peeled off his drenched jacket and worked his boots off but Ziio shook her head. 

“Nonsense! Take a shower, I'll take care of it.”

Connor didn't argue and slowly tried to peel his wet shirt off, not really paying attention to Ziio who, as quickly as she could, opened the dryer and stuffed Haytham's clothes into a basket, blocking the view of what she was doing with her body.  
She was nearly out of the door as Connor called her back and she slowly turned, keeping her face carefully passive. He hadn't seen, had he?

“Um... I'm kinda... hungry...?”

Oh! “I'll fix you something.”

“Thanks mom.”

“Anything else?”

“Um... no, I...” His brown eyes drifted down to the bundle of clothes she carried and she tried to turn before he could get a good look, but few things ever escaped her son's attention and he was right next to her in a second, grabbing a sleeve. He didn't own a suit! “What's this?”

“Nothing.” Ziio countered and stepped back. “Just a favor for someone. Don't worry about it, go take your shower, Connor.”

Connor didn't move, his eyes still fixated on the crumpled clothes in Ziio's arms and it slowly dawned on him... he had seen this particular suit before.

Before Ziio could even stop him Connor was out of the door, back into the hallway and looked into the living room, which was empty. Gritting his teeth he moved on, marching further down the hallway until he came to an abrupt end in the kitchen door way. Wide brown eyes fell on the familiar figure sitting at the kitchen table, wearing nothing but a towel and a blanket – why?! Oh god that was way more than he wanted to see! - and the corner of his eyelid twitched.

He was vaguely aware that he wasn't exactly presenting a pretty view himself, dripping cold rain water onto the clean floor, his wet clothes sticking to his body as ink black stands of wind-swept hair stubbornly clung to his face.

It didn't matter. Didn't matter because Haytham Fucking Kenway was sitting in his fucking kitchen, sipping fucking coffee like this was absolutely fucking normal at five in the fucking morning!

He felt Ziio's presence behind him and he slowly turned to glance at her over his shoulder. “What the fuck is _he_ doing here?”

-=-=-=-

For hours, he listened, speaking only when asked questions, keeping responses short and brief. He almost smiled at some of the memories, a finger absently tracing the one thick scar on his bicep where the tomahawk had hit him all those years ago.

She asked about the company, about Charles, but kept it short and simple. He was grateful for that, work was his entire life, it had been for well over two decades. Recently, admittedly, it sometimes became... monotonous. Especially now, as the companies head for half a decade, he had some more time to lay back, to take a day off and relax on occasion. He could find no one better than to do so with than the woman by his side. Like hell if he'd say that.

He looked over pictures quietly, observing with the same clinical methods he used in his practice. Like reading over a file, watching a molecular imaging scan; he said nothing, only taking in bits of detail he observed. Not a brilliant boy, but smart enough. Not a social butterfly, but with friends. He couldn’t hide the wince though, as she mentioned he majored in the 'liberal arts', history of all things. Bah, bother. Not an entirely interesting topic at all.

He remembered names, logging them away for later. Hours passed between the two, Haytham comfortable sitting, aware that his clothes were dry but it wasn't like Ziio had never seen him in a towel before, or less. Besides, she made no move to get them, he'd bask in the silent glory that was his thanks to his personal gym.

A knock interrupted a thought, Haytham shifting his seat over so he wasn't directly visible in the door way. There was little else he could do about it, offering Ziio a glance as she walked into the hallway, answering the door. Yup, the boy returned at long last, and in a way Haytham was relieved, but not for Connor's sake. Ziio shouldn't have been made to worry in such a manner, where were the boys manners?

He listened intently, eyelid twitching at the dryer blunder but remaining still. Would that child just listen and go take a shower?

He heard the rustle of fabric, Zio's excuse, and a rush of movement. Footstep leading past the hall and then down it, and Haytham braced himself, arms crossed over his chest in nonchalance as he met the surprised, than furious - and rather drenched- looking face of his son, looking him up and down.

Well lookie there, seemed like his eye twitch was an inherited trait. Fancy that.

Ziio walked in behind him, and Haytham raised an eyebrow at her frown, meeting her sons angry eyes.

"He -"

"Never you mind that, Connor. Your mother doesn't need a reason to have company over."

He stood holding out his hand and looking at Ziio. "Nor do I need to explain myself. Now, be a good lad and take a shower, and perhaps mull over the fact that you kept your mother waiting up for you when she has to work in three hours for thirteen hours today."

"Haytham-"

It was almost pleading, almost- he met her eyes again as she moved to set the basket of clothing from the table. It would be best if he dressed and left. However...

"I'm a man of my word, I'll pick you up at seven, to take you to work." He could run errands before then, perhaps push back that meeting and visit her second job at the lumberyard. "I'll take care of the lumberyard issue today, six in the evening I will pick you up here. We'll talk more later." He grabbed his shirt, looking towards Connor and he couldn't help his lips twitching upward for a brief moment before he blankly stated, "You may want to take that shower now, unless you care for incestuous nudity."

Oh the look on his face, he was so angry! Ziio blinked once, giving him a look for baiting their son but he shrugged, calling out to her as she turned on her heel, pushing Connor out of the room. "You could stay Ziio, it's not anything you haven't witnessed." His tone never lost the silken quality as he dropped the towel, making a loud swooshing noise as he laid it down on the floor changing into his pants. "Just stating the obvious."

-=-=-=-

Oh how dare he, bossing him around like that! Hands clenched into tight fists, trembling with the strain; if it weren't for mom, he would have slugged the bastard across the face already like he deserved! He had no right to say those things, to talk to him like that like his words even mattered.

Connor balked at the warning and Ziio quickly stepped forward, pushing her hands against his shoulders to get him to leave the kitchen before Haytham made true on his words, like she knew he would – the man had little shame to speak of.  
“Go. Just go. I'll make sure he leaves.” Another push and Connor shot his father one last seething, venomous glare, reluctant to go but the second he heard the swoosh of the towel dropping he stormed off to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him hard enough to make her wince. She made a mental note to check the door for damage later.

“You shouldn't bait him like that.” she said sternly as he turned around again, trying not to stare at Haytham's very much naked state. “This isn't easy for him so please, do not make this worse, Haytham.” With a deep sigh she sat down at the kitchen table and ran a thin-fingered hand through her hair, keeping her eyes on her cold coffee to have something to distract herself with. She wouldn't look. She would _not_ look. She had more self control than that!

“Don't you have a meeting or an appointment or whatever it is you do at your company that requires your attention? I can drive myself to work.” she muttered after a while and risked a glance up, relieved – or not – to see that Haytham had at least gotten his pants on. She didn't feel so bad for staring at his abs and chest... pretty impressive for someone who sat in his office all day. “Jesus Haytham, even you require sleep. I'll drive myself and I'll see you in the evening.”

Propping her elbow on the table she rested her chin in the palm of her hand as the corners of her mouth twitched. Either way, despite the mess, it felt good seeing him again and talking to him in person once more. Like the old days. Maybe this time it could last?

-=-=-=-

Undeterred, Haytham listened to the next excuse Ziio made about Connor, fighting not to roll his eyes. The child was clearly a step away from being a borderline punk at best, and he could see why. Yes, Ziio was good mother; he had no doubt in his mind. But when it came to not having a father, she caved in and gave Connor a pity party, one that needed to be nipped.

He would have said as much, if not for her very still, unnerving gaze on her coffee cup, and this time Haytham did smirk, making no move to get his shirt. The smirk only deepened as she made 'eye contact' with his chest. Yup, still got it. And he wasn't even trying... yet.

"Nuclear medicine and radioactive pharmacology, Ziio. The office is lovely, but I prefer the laboratory on the fourth floor of the building on Liberty Street in the financial district." In case she ever wanted to say 'welcome.' "… At your insistence, fine. But I'm still going to the lumberyard, post haste." Slipping into his shirt, albeit much more slowly than necessary, he hesitated before squeezing her shoulder, a fleeting, quick grasp. 

"Try to take a nap yourself, if you can manage. I'll come by to pick you up."

Slipping out into the hallway, he spared her a last glance from over his shoulder, fighting to keep that damned smile from his face.

"Later, woman." Ziio could but roll her eyes, though her lips twitched upward yet again. "Later douche bag."

His abrupt laugh surprised even himself, and he slipped out into the street, closing the door behind him with a long exhale. Right, to business then. Getting Ziio to play hookie and attempting to not fall asleep during the meeting at noon.

This day would prove boring until dinner, he just knew it.

In the meantime, Ziio took a moment to watch the door just for a moment, the warmth of Haytham's fingers still on her shoulder. The tease.

Washing both cups, she waited for Connor to emerge from the bathroom, unsure if he'd truly want an explanation though, deep down, there was truth to what Haytham had said... she didn't really need to give him one Though, with the topic being what it was, she'd be lenient and hope her son would understand.

-=-=-=-

Connor took his sweet time, knowing that it was wishful thinking but still hoping that the hot water would wash away all the thoughts and memories of his father away. Like the one featuring the old man in a towel. Ew.

Fucking worthless excuse of a fucking father.

And what was even worse was that mom didn't even seemed to really mind, him being here. Oh god what if they got back together again? That would never happen, would it? That would be an absolute nightmare!

“Should have never gone to that stupid company of his...” Grumbling to himself he reached down and turned off the spray, wiping the water out of his eyes with his fingers before he stepped out of the shower stall and reached for a clean towel.

It wasn't like he didn't wish for his mother to be happy... but she was happy, right? Without Haytham in her life like he had been for the last twenty years? Surely this wouldn't change anything? Ugh why did this have to be so complicated?

Slipping into his pajamas Connor left the bathroom after cleaning up the mess he had left behind, stuffing his wet clothes into a hamper and using his used towel to dry the floor.

Ziio was still in the kitchen when he entered but with one tired look he made it clear that he didn't want to talk. One glass of water and a kiss on her cheek followed by a softly spoken “Good night” - despite it already being morning – he left again. Perhaps he could get one hour of sleep in before he had to get up for school again...

~*~

He was fortunate that Wednesday wasn't a complicated school day, the shortest of the week and filled with only simple classes. He nearly fell asleep a couple of times and he brushed off Shaun's questions about what was wrong with the simple answer that he'd had a rough night, nothing more.

After school finished he went straight home. Ziio was still at work and he wouldn't see her until he got off his work shift tonight as well. Changing into his work clothes he lounged for a bit, slouched down on the couch and dragging out the moment where he had to get up again, before grabbing his bag, keys, phone and wallet.

The Red Mango restaurant he worked at was two blocks away. He had a driver’s license but mom had the car most of the time. It was alright, he didn't mind taking the bus.

Working as a waiter wasn't the most awesome job out there, especially not when one had to deal with rude clients every day, but it paid fairly well and Myriam worked here as well. That definitely helped, she made working here a lot more tolerable, joking and talking during breaks and between orders. Today's shift lasted until ten so he still had quite some time to go.

“Rough night, huh?” Myriam said as he entered through the backdoor and tossed his bag in a corner. Raising his eyebrows she smirked and tapped her phone. “Shaun called. He was worried, said you looked like a zombie. I must say he's right.”

“Gee, thanks. Really. ”

“You're welcome.”

Connor snorted, the corners of his mouth twitching. She didn't ask further as he knew she wouldn't. Stifling a yawn he followed her into the restaurant itself; it was still a quiet hour with only a handful of people already eating their orders but things would get busy soon enough. Ugh he couldn't wait for this day to be over with already...

-=-=-=-

How he stayed awake long enough to reach his comfortable office couch was beyond him. He hated to admit it, but Ziio's suggestion did have merit; he wasn't horribly young any longer, rest would do him some good. A four hour nap had him feeling much better, a fresh change of clothing and a quick shower also aiding in his brightened mood.

Now to stay awake though the board meeting... he should be cruel like other CEO's and let Charles bare the brunt alone. But that would hardly suit his friend at all, who would they then mock after the meeting was through?

"Morning Charles." At his right hand side, where he belonged, a hot cup of what he knew to be Oolong, two lemon wedges and a sugar in his hand. Some traditions were worth keeping, as was his second most trusted friend. Second only to the being that occupied his thoughts this morning, with her feathers, beads, braids and lip twitches.

"You're in a fine mood for a corporate meeting." 

He ignored the slight odor, long ago having deemed Charles to have a glandular disorder. "I had a pleasantly productive evening, working late into the night."

"Ah." The gleam of respect shone brightly, Charles nodding appreciatively at Haytham's tenacity. His ability to create never quite ceased to amaze him; he held nothing but pride for his friends accomplishments. His business thrived because of his unflinching effort.

~*~

"I'm famished."

"Likewise."

Two hour long meetings, an abridgment in budget deficiency and a laboratory faux pas that made him fire two incompetent researchers later, and Haytham could hardly imagine why.

They walked slowly, down Liberty street and turning left in the direction of Connor's school, absently looking through a few restaurant windows. "Who's turn is it to pick?"

"Yours."

Huh, well he wasn't in the mood for much. Perhaps something like, where was that sashimi place located? He offered a peripheral view at the neon lights of the Red Mango, a restaurant catering to Caribbean cuisine when he saw him.

That's right, Connor worked here with... Myrium? Myriad? Yes, something of that nature. How... delightful.

"I want to eat here." 

Charles rose an eyebrow, frowning at the low brow cuisine... beef patties? Ox tail? Jerked chicken? Really Haytham?

"Don't mentally ostracize me, I can feel it."

Charles laughed but shook his head, still staring at him. "There are much finer eateries-"

Haytham was already half way through the door before Charles could blink. "Table for two."

"Yes sir." The hostess walked to the right but Haytham interjected. "No, I want to be seated at the left, in a booth."

"… Oh, all right sir." He wondered if she knew who he was or was very apt with customer service, it felt like that should have been more difficult.

Charles glared at him. "Haytham, really now, is there some reason you want to eat here? It's so..." Middle class? Plebian? Beneath his status?

"I wish to partake in variety, I've been told it's the spice of life and my tastes run exotic." Again he saw Ziio, the brief second his eyes closed, and he pushed the thought aside but for a moment, waiting for his waiter to approach.

Sure enough, he was, and the look on his face was to die for.

This is what happened when one was a brat to their mother. He'd learn, in time.

-=-=-=-

“Oh no. No no no no no no no.”

Myriam looked up from the ledger with a confused frown lining her eyebrows. “What?”

“What the hell is he doing here?”

“Huh?” What was Connor going on about? She glanced at the door, watching how one of their colleagues escorted two gentlemen to a private booth. As she looked back at Connor she noticed that he followed them with his eyes as well, an angry glare sitting on his features. Okay, what? “What's going on?”

Connor grumbled and lowered himself closer to the counter, almost as if he was trying to hide behind it as he kept a glare aimed at the two men who had seated themselves at the table. “It's him.”

… oh. “Oooooooh!” Eagerly, almost too eager, Myriam whirled around and rose up on her toes, blatantly staring at the business duo. “Which one? Which one? It's not the greasy looking one, is it?”

“No... no, the other guy. With the stupid ponytail.”

“Oooooh, he's hot.”

“Myriam!”

“What? I like older men. They have experience.”

The flat stare Connor gave her didn't even faze her. “... gross. That's my father you're talking about, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“Yeah but you don't care about him anyway, so I can stare.”

… good point, but still.

“Want me to take their order? I don't mind, I can't understand if you don't want to...”

Connor sighed deeply. The offer was appreciated, but no, he'd deal with this himself. This restaurant wasn't bad, but it wasn't the place frequented by fancy suits like Kenway and his greasy friend... he must have known he worked here and if that was true, than that meant that he was doing this on purpose just to be a dick. “No, I have it covered. Thanks...”

Steeling himself he grabbed two menus, pushed away from the counter and walked around it, making his way towards the table. He wasn't fully able to school his face into a professional mask and truthfully he wasn't trying very hard... let it be clear that he wasn't pleased with their presence here, but he didn't want to lose his job so he would have to be polite... as much as he would love to punch him in the face or spit in his food.

Still, as he arrived at the table and fished a pen and his server book out of his pocket, he couldn't help but say something and he leaned closer to Haytham so that he could whisper. “I know why you're here, you asshole. And I'm sure you're getting a kick out of this. I wish the world could see what a fucking bastard you truly are but I know your time will come. And I will be there when it happens.”

With that he straightened up again and handed them both a menu, continuing with a normal volume. “Can I get you something to drink?”

-=-=-=-

Keeping himself from smirking, but just barely, Haytham took a moment to just watch fists clench and unclench, see him seethe. He could taste the anger rolling off him, he was infuriated.

It was delicious, absolutely delicious.

Charles was looking between the two unsure of what to say, until Haytham actually grinned and opened the menu. "Tea, two lemon wedges, one sugar. Any variety would be most welcome..." He 'squinted' at the name tag, politely adding. "Connor. My associate will take a scotch no doubt."

"Make it a double, I can only hope it's not swill."

"A double then." For a moment Haytham stood, leaning in quickly, abruptly, seeming to maybe tell a joke or ask a question. The malice in his voice wasn't lost on Connor though.

"I may be a prick, but I respected my mother enough to have her not worry herself sick about me. Pull something so juvenile, so pathetically tantrum like that again and no god will be able to deliver you from the hell I will bestow."

He leaned back politely. "The restroom? Where was it located? Oh, never mind I see the sign, thank you."

He strode slowly, raising an eyebrow at the girl who blatantly stared, looking at her name tag... so that was Myriam. Good. Another pawn in their little game. He washed his hands before reemerging, seating himself next to Charles, face blank as he received his tea. "I trust you didn't spit in it, yes?”

A joke, of course. Laughable, or at least that's how it was said. Manifest meanings however spoke differently.

-=-=-=-

Scribbling the order into his server book he closed it and stuffed it back into his pocket, but before he could turn and walk away to get their drinks, Haytham stood up. Connor tensed, an automatic reaction, and narrowed his eyes as his father leaned in.

Oh really? _Really?_ He scowled at him as Haytham left for the mens room and turned, stomping back to the counter.

Myriam gave him a worrying glance as he turned on the water boiler and grabbed a glass cup and two taller ones for the scotch. 

“Connor, you okay?” she asked as he grabbed a random tea bag out of the basket and pressed two lemon wedges onto the edge of the cup, adding a small paper sack of sugar and a wrapped biscuit before filling the cup with steaming water.

“Fine. He just proved he's still a dick.” He opened a cabinet and reached in the back for the most expensive brand of scotch they had; the bastards were fucking rich so they might as well pay the full price. Filling both glasses and adding whatever extras went with scotch he set it all on a tray and walked back towards the table again, just when Haytham returned from his trip to the mens room.

"I trust you didn't spit in it, yes?"

Merely raising his eyebrow he didn't answer that and set the two glasses of scotch in front of Charles, before he leaned closer again. “For the record... you are twenty years too late trying to play the role of a bossy father figure. Threatening me won't get you anywhere.” Setting the tea in front of Haytham with a little more force than was necessary Connor hooked the tray under his arm and picked up his server book again.”Have you made a decision about what you would like to eat?”

-=-=-=-

And of course, he was missing the point entirely. All right, Haytham wasn't in his life, granted, but his mother was, and he didn't worry Haytham, he worried _her_. Obviously the insolent little shit couldn't grasp that, but he wasn't the sharpest tool in the proverbial shed.

"Mmm, don't quite know yet." He skimmed the menu, tilting his head before spotting her again. "Pardon, miss? Can I ask a question of you?"

Myriam halted, placing menus at her table before walking over, still staring somewhat. "Yes, sir?"

"Women are notorious for having better taste than men, in more ways than one." He let out a chuckle, leaning back in his chair and stirring his tea with a spoon, licking the edge slowly, eyes locked on her. "What would you recommend from off the menu?"

It was too easy, watching her stammer, his eyes on Connor as he bit the tip of his finger. Charles had to keep from laughing. Haytham could be quite entertaining when bored.

"The chicken, the c-curry chicken."

"Thank you, dearest, make it two of those then, one for myself and one for you, Myriam, for being a delightful help." He paused, Charles ordering jerked chicken, Haytham handing the menu to Connor with a smile. "A hypothetical question, Myriam. Say if you wanted to bond with a lad, a cousin, nephew, perhaps a son or something of the like, but they didn't want to because... you made a horrid misstep, how would you go about earning trust?" His gaze was earnest and he ignored Charles's obvious confusion. He'd make up something later, that wasn't important.

What was important was how Connor's little friends perceived him... no, maybe he couldn't hide who he was from Ziio or Connor, he couldn't pretend to like the boy... but his friends... too easy. Mental games were far more fun than physical threats, anyway.

-=-=-=-

Son of a bitch! Fucking worthless piece of shit... dragging Myriam into this! Connor's fingers tightened around his server book, nearly snapping his pen in half with the other. Perhaps he had noticed Myriam's unrelenting staring, knew that she'd be easy. He remained close to her, hovering next to her side like a protective mother hen and listened to her stammering an answer.

With a sigh he scribbled the order down but when Haytham opened his mouth again he couldn't keep silent any longer. With a gentle push he forced Myriam to take a small step back and positioned himself between her and his father, glaring down at the man with a furious look. “Enough, do not involve her with this. Don't even bother, she already knows. The secret is already out.” 

With that he grabbed Myriam's hand and guided her away from the duo, back to the counter so he could prepare their stupid order. “Still think he's hot?” he asked as he tossed his server book on the counter and informed the kitchen of his new orders.

She just shrugged, looking a lot more uncomfortable now that she had been involved by the man himself. She wouldn't lie though. “Well yes... but it's only physical, and you know I would never-”

“I know...”

“He's... kind of a creep actually, from up close. I had the feeling he was doing that on purpose.”

“He was... you know...” Putting his hands on the counter Connor leaned back against it and took a deep breath, resisting to urge to glance in his father's direction. “He was at my house last night, talking to my mother. He hasn't truly spoken to her in twenty years aside from the handful bits of small communication over e-mail and the like, and suddenly he's at our house kissing up my mom's ass and making moves on her.” And he had been naked but Connor left that bit of information out.

“Perhaps it's just a phase... maybe it will pass and he'll leave you and your mom alone again. That's worth hoping, no?”

Connor nodded and she smiled, quickly pulling him into a friendly hug. “It will be alright, trust me. I don't like seeing you upset.” She patted his back as he sighed into her hair, returning the hug briefly.

“Thanks...”

“You're welcome!”

The next few minutes were spent in silence; Myriam took the orders of the new clients who came in after Haytham and Charles so that Connor had time to brood in peace, until the orders were ready and he had no choice but to confront his father again and listen to more of his bullshit. Loading the plates onto a tray he caught the wink Myriam sent him and nodded, taking a deep breath before he walked back to the table.

“Need a refill?” he asked with a nod to their drinks as he set the plates down, avoiding Haytham's eyes this time.

-=-=-=-

Oh, well that wasn't very fun, taking his target away, and Haytham rolled his eyes. No shit she knew the secret dumb ass, why do you think he was flirting with her? Pale and plain, nope, not his type. That and he preferred a person his own age, and darker. Ah Ziio, one morning with her and he was a mentally taken man again.

It was quite fetching in a way. He looked forward to dinner.

"What secret are they talking about?"

"The waiter, Charles, he's the one from last week, the one who accused me of being his father. I was being clever."

"Oh, well by all means continue. It is amusing to watch you play games."

Heh, and fun, entirely too fun. "Indeed."

He waited for his food, patiently watching Connor avoid him, before turning his attention to Charles. "No thanks, Connor. Charles, I am going to need you to fill in for me at a meeting , I have a few plans tonight that acquire attention."

Eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. "You're passing off a meeting? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, quite. I'm attending to matters of equal importance, if such a thing is imaginable."

"It's not, not readily. But I have a feeling it's a secret from the way you're skirting around mentioning what it entitles."

He shrugged, lips twitching upward. "Guilty as charged, I'm afraid. It will become known soon enough, if I have anything to do about it." A pause, and he looked at Connor once more. "Mind getting your manager for me and running off? I need a word with the proprietor."

-=-=-=-

Oh. Well fine then, saves him the trouble of serving them even more. He took the menus away and turned to serve an elderly couple who had just entered and who, to his great annoyance, picked a table close to where Hatham sat with Greasy.  
A quick glance over his shoulder showed that Myriam was still busy with another customer, meaning that he'd have to take these.

Grrreeeeaaaat.

He was still within his father's hearing distance, and he only half listened to the orders of the elderly couple as Haytham talked about his plans tonight. He couldn't make heads nor tails out of it, maybe it was nothing but Greasy made it clear that him passing off on a meeting was unusual. Connor felt like he had every right to be paranoid.

The elderly man cleared his throat and Connor blinked, quickly apologizing and telling them he'd bring their drinks along soon. He was about to walk back to the counter when, to his rapidly growing frustration, Haytham called to him again. "Mind getting your manager for me and running off? I need a word with the proprietor."

Connor frowned... why would he want to speak with his manager? He couldn't say no though, so he just nodded and continued his way to the counter, dropping off the menus there.  
The manager's office was in the back, next to the kitchen. He rapped his knuckles on the door before opening it. “Sir? There's a customer who would like a word with you?”

The managed sighed and put his pen down, getting up and following Connor into the main room of the restaurant, pointing where Haytham sat. As the managed walked away to talk with him Connor watched him go and exhaled slowly... he wouldn't put it passed his dick father to complain about him or something... fuck, if he got him fired...!  
Nothing to do but wait though... grumbling to himself he turned to prepare the drinks for the elderly couple and tried not to let it worry him too much.

-=-=-=-

Good, he was trembling, probably fearful of loosing his job, hm? No surprise there, he needed it to pay bills, and while Haytham had no feelings towards his son one way or the other, there were some thing he wouldn't do.

"Hello there sirs, how can I help you today?"

Immediately he was recognized, the manager's eyes widening considerably as Haytham smiled. This would be fun too.

~*~

"I can't believe you actually gave them a five hundred dollar tip each."

Haytham shrugged, walking side by side with Charles. "I won't be missing it."

"And changed his schedule for him, permanently? I don't understand why you're being so nice to the little street urchin."

"His mother spoke to me, just the other day. You know what she wanted most, Charles? " He paused, remembering Ziio's words. "She wanted more time with her son. They don't have any days off together, she wanted him to get Thursdays off to remedy that. Not money, not power... she wants to spend time with her son."

Charles nodded, beginning to piece everything together. "That’s why you wanted to eat here."

"Precisely. He's..." Haytham swallowed thickly, mask still in place. "… not a bad kid, he just wants affection. His actions- while immature- were a mere cry for understanding. His mother was quite sweet, I simply could not say no."

They continued onwards, Haytham knowing Connor would also see his scribbled note on the receipt.

_'Taking your mother out tonight. Don't wait up.'_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much thanks to everyone who reviewed and left kudos so far! My co-writer was spazzing and flailing when I told her, and so was I.
> 
> I think uploads will be once every few days. Right now I'm editing chapter 5 and we're finishing up chapter 6. Chapter 9 till 11 are already written as well because of a big plot point so uploads should be regular. ^-^  
> I fixed as many typos as I could find (and fixed the previous chapter as well, thanks to BB for letting me know) but there might still be a few my spell check won't filter out.
> 
> Also, Connor is a brat.

He had to spend a few hours in the laboratory after lunch, reconfiguring the molecular image computation, allowing maximum screen resolution to better pinpoint the area needed for targeted chemotherapy. The presentation to follow was thankfully much more pleasant than the prior morning meetings, a few of the scientists being quite happy at the ability to accurately concur the exact sight of cancerous, abnormal cells. Diagnosis would come a bit easier, as would treatment, another win for the company and himself.

The moment the meeting ended, Haytham practically threw of his goggles, gloves, and lead jumper- his protection against the radioactive material is often came into contact with. He wondered if people truly had any idea of what he did before squashing the thought, and jogged to his office to grab a less informal attire, checking the time before he showered in the decontamination unit. Three-thirty three, enough time to take a quick shower, get to New Rochelle and talk to Ziio's boss before meeting her. She hadn't put him up to asking for days off, it was something he'd done simply because he could.

Because apparently, after twenty years, the spark never truly ceased. His lips twitched again as he wrung out his drenched hair. Funny, he had planned on re-introducing himself to her slowly, but this was far better. Perhaps she should thank Connor for being an immature dolt, forcing them to meet earlier.

Or he could say nothing and credit his own charm. Hm, yeah he liked the latter option better.

Convincing the lumberyard employer to let Ziio have both the night and Thursdays off was surprisingly quick an easy, once across the obvious language barrier. So it seemed, this employer knew his company well, having been diagnosed with melanoma a few years back and in desperate need of radioactive pharmaceuticals. Naturally what he thought may be trying ended in a handshake and much more gratitude than expected, and Haytham stored away the last name, focusing on the Native's graying, braided hair and heavily accented voice.

She'd received treatment at a discount, yes, but was still paying it off. That would change, as a thanks for her cooperation.

Sometimes having money was very, very useful.

It wasn't before long that the row of cottages came into view, Haytham parking on the side of the house. No Connor, not for a long time- his lips twitched again as he exited, approaching the door only to have it open, a tired looking Ziio emerging in a torn pair of jeans, work boots and- to his surprise- a taupe, leather jacket adorned with beads and frayed edges covering the majority of a plain white t-shirt.

"That is not the same jacket." 

Her lips twitched upward at his incredulous statement, turning to point at a flaw in the material, one they accidentally created during a night of, well, passion. Judging by the glint in Haytham's eye, he remembered that night. It was a difficult night to forget, in a meadow by Pinewood Sanctuary, on their jackets, the knees of Haytham's pants stained from his repetitive, vigorous actions.

Dual, simultaneous sighs left both of them, a deep, knowing chuckle leaving Haytham as she glanced over his own attire. A far cry from the suit of yesterday, a simple pair of blue jeans, probably expensive ones, black boots and a black, tight muscle-tee, that left nothing to the imagination. The scar on his bicep disappeared under the material, a thick bit of rigid skin visible. It felt puckered under her tongue, but tasted like the rest of him.

She fought the grin but just barely, that look still in Haytham's eyes as he walked her to his car. "Hungry yet?"

"No, not really."

"Good." Eyes met and he smiled, removing two pairs of sun-glass goggles, clear and stylish from his car. Ziio's eyes widened before she finally genuinely smiled, no matter how brief.

"What are we shooting?" 

"Plates and still targets, today. Maybe some game in the future months, spring will be upon us." He had to keep his eyes on the damn road but it was proving difficult when she looked at him like that. She needn't say a damn thing, nor he, sitting in comfortable silence for the ten minute drive. He hoped he was still a decent shot.

~*~

"Every target, Haytham. I am almost impressed."

He chewed through his bison burger before commenting, lounging casually on the patio of one of her favorite places. He knew overly ornate attire and fancy restaurants were simply not her way, hence why she choose their location. Unlike Charles, he had no qualms dining at either, thoroughly enjoying the taste of larger game. It reminded him of Europe, of hunting quails and rabbits in Greece, of squab in parts of Britain and Italy, of deer sausage in Germany as he took the game of the prolific black forest. It was nice, this more simple, undecorated way of living from time to time. He rather enjoyed it.

"You should talk, miss I-haven't-held-a-Smith-and-Wesson-rifle-in-years, _yet_ you hit every moving buck directly in the head."

"If you shoot them anywhere else the meat tenses and tastes overly gamey." A pause, and she resumed eating her venison, pointing downward. " It's why I come here, they seem to know that." Another pause, and she examined his bison, curiously. Wordlessly, he ripped off a chunk of the burger and place it on her plate. "Quite good."

"Mm." She returned the gesture with the deer, as they silently tried each others food, 'hming' thoughtfully. "You were right about the venison. I tend to avoid it for the very reason you mentioned."

"Bison tastes like raw ass."

He choked on his soda, covering his mouth with his hand as her lips twitched upward. "Yes, well. To each his own then."

"Mm." There was a brief clatter of silverware in the distance, and Ziio looked at Haytham for a moment. "I want to move slowly."

"That's understandable, given what's... happened."

"It's not that."

He raised an eyebrow, curious. "Elaborate."

"Connor." 

He fought the frown, her gaze locked on his, deep brown watching him carefully. "He needs time to adjust, to this. To... us if that's were it leads."

"Where else would it lead?" Her lips twitched again, upwards, before they stopped, her stoic face making his eyebrows knit. "What is it?"

"What made you move your company here, Haytham?" Her tone was so very soft, he almost didn't catch it. He blinked, watching her just as carefully. 

"Honestly?"

"No Haytham, please lie to me." 

He almost smiled, sure this wasn't the most romantic answer but it was the truth. "It's a business city, one of the greatest in the world. Enterprise is important, I need international accommodation, and the mix of culture is a perfect way to spread the word about my corporation. That and it was either here or..." his eyes averted, jaw tightening, and Ziio winced as he whispered the word. "London."

"Now it makes sense." She whispered it, softly. She hadn't expected herself to be the reason and was in no way offended. What they promised was to avoid contact, to avoid names, faces, seeing each other- she could only remember his flight back overseas and quickly shoved the thought from her mind. Horrible, it has been horrible for both of them, knowing what needed to be done yet wanting to do the opposite. She never said it, but she had always hoped he would return, someday, and always thought it wishful, foolish. And yet, here he was, taking her to dinner, to a shooting range, going outside the life he now knew to make time for her again. There was a sense of pride, knowing she could do that to him.

She jumped only slightly as a warm, large hand covered hers. "I meant to see you again." He swallowed hard. "Not quite so soon... the intention was to start e-mailing more frequently, perhaps send a text before calling, slowly introducing myself back instead of this."

"Is that why you sent that e-mail out of the blue?"

"Yes. I wished to gauge your response, to determine how rapidly I should move."

"Hm. And then you get our son, barging into your office instead, making a scene."

"Mm. It did alter my plan significantly." Another pause, and she had just one more question burning in her eyes.

"… Why did you call me? You could have e-mailed, sent a text. Was it because he told you his name?"

"No." He spoke honestly, and her hand entwined with his at the answer, both pairs of lips twitching upwards. "It was because he mentioned your unhappiness."

"And that made you... unsure, unhappy?"

"Need I even answer that?" 

"No." His presence there, driving from his cooperation to her home in the suburbs, getting her off the night so she could meet, probably ditching whatever meeting he was supposed to attend- what could speak more of his intentions than that? Others may not see what Haytham was behind the subtle twitches and accent, but she wasn't one of them.

They finished their meal, and he took her home, running the car outside for a moment. She had wanted to get home to spend time with Connor before she had work, and Haytham -while disappointing- kept it to himself. He was still their son, no matter how he acted.

"You should come, in the spring, to Connecticut for a weekend. The hunting grounds are untouched in some areas."

"I will."

"Maybe Connor and you will bond a little before then." 

Haytham twitched, face remaining blank and skepticism empty from his voice. "Perhaps."

He shut the car, walking with her to her door. "We should do this, sometime soon."

"I agree. Perhaps next weekend, if our buy out goes well enough. Is there anything you'd like to do-"

"Moving targets."

His lips twitched upwards. "Good call. I'll make the arrangements."

Standing there under the fading, flickering light in the driveway, she could honestly say this was a better date than she had in quite sometime. No attempts to coerce her into sex, not overly touchy, not a lot of dialogue but a lot said. He hadn't changed outwardly, his remarks and snide comments remained intact, but there was clearly something different about him. He wanted more time with her, a welcome circumstance.

Still, slow and steady. He owned a major international corporation, they needed to take their time. 

Her phone vibrated, and she put it straight to voice mail, before it vibrated again. Haytham shrugged nonchalantly as she apologized. "Remember, slow."

A pat on the back and he was walking away, giving her the privacy to accept the call. "Yes?"

 _"Kaniehti:io! You will never believed what has happened!"_ Oh, her boss at the lumber yard.

"Let me guess, Haytham Kenway talked to you?"

_"Yes but even better! He paid for my treatment!"_

"What?!" 

Her laughter could be heard, along with the voices of a few others, chattering. _"We are having a bonfire in his name, we managed a few preparations in the hours we had... how can we reach him? We'd like to have him here!"_

Almost stunned, she watched Haytham walk away. "I-I open in the morning-"

_"No, no, I gave you tomorrow off, so you could spend time with your son. He'll be getting of Thursdays now, that's what that nice man said."_

"Haytham? Haytham told you my son would be off this Thursday?"

_"Every Thursday, Ziio. So you can go to the flea markets and pow wow's together with the clan. He mentioned going to the red mango and speaking to Con-"_

She was sprinting, practically full out sprinting towards the car, stepping in front of it just as Haytham began to take off, slamming his foot on his breaks.

"Really woman?!" Rolling down the window, he glared at Ziio, perplexed. "Are you trying to get yourself kil-"

Grabbed by his pony tail, his head yanked backward, lips pressed against his hard and fast, tongue taking advantage of his surprise and slipping into his mouth. Haytham tensed... before giving in completely, following seat and kissing just as passionately, though his arms stayed in place, unable to do much through a window.

They parted panting and Haytham cleared his voice. "What happened to slow?"

"Fuck slow, as my son would say, YOLO." 

Snorting, Haytham stared into brown eyes, lips actually abandoning the twitch to grin. "Who was that?"

"My boss, telling me I'm off tomorrow, as is my son- which means I can spend the day with him, and my night with you." 

Ah, well, that explained it. He'd have to thank that woman when he saw her, though he'd need a translator. He didn't speak the Mohawk language, whatever it may be called, and her English was difficult to understand.

Hopping into the passengers seat, she resumed her phone call. "We're on the way now. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Where am I going, exactly?" 

She hung up, smiling. "Bonfire, in your honor, I'll give you directions." A pause, and Haytham resumed driving, but not before returning the feverish kiss from before, taking his time to thoroughly explore every inch of the hot, wet mouth he enjoyed, placing the car in park and unbuckling his seat belt to do so, hands running over her back, over her braided hair, massaging as he kissed deeply, passionately, leaving them both in a pleasant haze. "To be continued at the bonfire. Let's go." 

"Mm." He had no complaints about that.

-=-=-=-

“Five hundred dollar?!”

“Yup.”

Shaun's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull as he looked from Myriam to Connor. It was after school time and as usual on a Wednesday he made a detour to the Red Mango to pay his working friends a visit before going home to his apartment. Today though... he had not expected to hear _this_ story. “Five hundred dollar _each_?”

“Uhuh.” 

“And you got to keep it?”

Myriam nodded and beamed at him, obviously pleased with today's luck. Connor didn't seem too happy. He had accepted the money of course – albeit with a glare – but she was sure that if he hadn't needed it so badly he would have blatantly refused. His already low opinion on his father must have taken another big beating after Haytham's behavior today, baiting him like that. Connor had accepted the sudden change in schedule as well, though again, with clear reluctance after it became clear it was because Haytham had talked to the manager.

It wasn't like he didn't want Thursdays off so he could spent time with his mother, but he didn't want to feel like he owed Haytham a debt.

There was little Shaun and Myriam managed to do to cheer their friend up; Connor remained sullen and grumpy for the remainder of the day and evening, putting on his polite smiling face only when dealing with customers, but staying silent and withdrawn otherwise.

It was sad... this wasn't like him at all. Connor had always been the one initiating the things they did together, infecting them with his never-ending enthusiasm about the things that were of interest to him, even if he was a little naive at times. But ever since that disastrous meeting with his father... he still smiled, he still joked but it was like his heart wasn't in it anymore.

And it didn't help that Kenway didn't seem interested in improving his relationship with his son, nor did it help that he was taking Ziio out on a date tonight, something that didn't sit well with Connor at all.

They hoped that things would pass with time, cool down and return to normal.

Connor couldn't have been more relieved when his shift finally ended. Bidding Myriam a quick 'see you at school tomorrow' he left after grabbing his things, and ran all the way to the nearest bus stop. It was a little past 10pm but perhaps... just maybe Haytham had been lying about the date. Perhaps mom would be home waiting for him, like she always did on Wednesday evening.

Oh please let her be home! Let it have been a lie!

Jumping out of the bus when he arrived he ran down the street, nearly running over a woman walking her dog in his haste to reach home and sprinted around the corner, entering the street he lived in. He didn't slow down until he saw that all the lights inside were off, indicating that yes, the house was devoid of any living beings.

Haytham hadn't been lying.

“Go figure...” he muttered to no one in particular and slowly walked up the steps, not really sure how he felt about the whole thing. He supposed he should feel happy that his mother was dating someone again, getting out and doing something fun... but... why did it have to be _him_ of all people?  
Why hadn't she called him, or at least left him a text message on his phone that she was going out with him? Let him _know_ in _her_ words?

She hadn't even bothered...

Haytham had written down not to wait up for them. _Well fuck you, bastard,_ he thought as he jammed the key into the lock and opened the front door. _Because that is exactly what I will be doing, no matter how long it takes._

Dumping his bag in the hallway he grabbed some left over dinner from last night and heated it up in the microwave before taking it up to his own room. Phone in his pocket, ear buds in his ears and the music volume cranked up high he climbed out of his window onto the narrow balcony, taking a few pillows and a blanket with him to keep warm in the autumn evening wind. He had a perfect view out onto the street from here, and they wouldn't see him unless they bothered to look up.

No matter how long it took... he would sit here, and wait.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't keep the small smile off his face. Having reunited with Ziio was one thing, but her brethren, cousins and relatives, the clan members that he met before welcomed him back with more than open arms. He had no idea what Ziio told them of his departure, but evidently he unknowingly helped the very in debt clan leader pay off her debts, a fact to be celebrated. And a bonfire on a cool night sounded most nostalgic.

He accepted the praise graciously, allowing Ziio to bond with family and friends she hadn't seen in some time, watching her over the fires glow. She was radiant.

After sometime, an hour or more of festivities the group waned, and about another hour later it was simply them and a few others, who wandered off from time to time, fire dying in it's hearth. Ziio shivered next to him as the wind blew.

Saying nothing, he lay down his coat, instructing her to lay on it, about to lay flat on the dew moistened sand, until she stopped him. "You lay down first."

"Mm." He did, her smaller body pressing to his, laying on top of him securely, a missing piece to a complicated puzzle.

His arms tightened around her automatically, hands rubbing over the softening leather of her jacket, an attempt to keep her warm. Silence, only the crackling fire in front of them, the occasional footsteps trailing to and fro and the glint of fire passing them. He could fall asleep like this, it was rather tranquil.

"I didn't expect any of this Haytham. Thank you."

"I hardly planned any of this, it simply turned out well."

She gazed at him, braided hair falling to either side of her face , and he cupped her cheek briefly. No words were needed, not as they leaned toward each other, lips slow in the descent, taking their time.

Two hours later, ruffled clothing and tousled, retied hair and all, he pulled up to her house, shaking her briefly. "Your home, Ziio."

"Hm?" Oh, yes... she climbed from the car, Haytham's jacket still tight around her, and she made to return it to him.

"Keep it. It suits you."

She wouldn't argue, and she tip toed, pressing a kiss to his lips again. How many times they'd done this tonight, she couldn't guess, but Haytham wouldn't let it progress further, as much as the pressure against her leg spoke of how he wanted to.

At least it wasn't a blow to her ego, she had requested to take it slow, someone had to try to.

Arms around his neck, and his around her, they kissed once more, a quick tangle of tongue before parting. Haytham exhaled slowly, attempting to adjust the dull stirring he felt.

"Don't bother." Ziio quipped.

"Am I that transparent?"

"No, it's just that obvious."

He chuckled, low, letting her go reluctantly and pecked her cheek. "Flattery, Ziio."

"Honesty, Haytham." She turned on her heel, opening the door, but not before making sure... "Next weekend, right?"

"Mm. Or perhaps lunch, this Sunday or Monday."

"Monday is good for me."

"Then, both."

Their lips twitched, Haytham bowing his head slightly, before walking toward his car with a skip in his step. "Later, woman."

"Later, douche bag."

He could but smile, the same as she, both of their moods heightened. There was no way the night could go sour now.

-=-=-=-

No... no... no... heard it too often... no... no... ye gods no... “Hm.” Dammit he needed new songs... should ask Myriam to rip some new ones off of youtube tomorrow. Pressing play Connor leaned back against the wall, the hoodie of his vest pulled down over his eyes as the catchy beat of Gangnam Style entered his ears. This too was something he had heard way too often already but it was so damn catchy. His left foot tapped against the concrete in rhythm of PSY's crazy lyrics and he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders... fucking cold. When were they coming back? It had been hours already and Angry Birds really got boring after a while.

It was a little past midnight when the sleek car he recognized as belonging to Haytham finally came in view and parked in front of the house. Connor sat up carefully, slowly so as to not draw attention to himself, and narrowed his eyes as he watched his father refuse the return of his jacket – slimy bastard – and grimaced as he watched them share a kiss.

Childish maybe, to be icked watching your parents make out but he felt entitled, so sue him.

He wasn't pleased at all to hear that they were making further plans for next weekend and grumbled, feeling around next to him for the sling shot he had brought with him. He used to make a lot of these as a kid; most had broken down over time but this one was still functional. He wasn't supposed to use it and most definitely not on people; Ziio didn't even know he still had this one but screw this. At least he was not using rocks, though he really should. He had taken a few chestnuts from the bowl on the coffee table instead.

Putting one in the sling, keeping a second one pressed against his palm with his middle finger for quick reloading he pulled it back and aimed as Haytham walked towards his car – crazy bastard was skipping even. Nuts. What a school girl.

Just as Haytham reached out to open the door of his car, Connor let go of the sling, watching the chestnut fly away in a perfect arc and almost hearing the sharp _thionk_ it made as it slammed against the side of his father's skull. It wasn't a rock but it would still hurt. He wished he could make it hurt a lot more but Ziio was going to be angry enough as it was for even doing this, childish as it was. But he'd gladly deal with her wrath to have a chance to get back at the old man. 

As expected Haytham immediately turned to see where it had come from and what it was, already reaching up to rub his head and Connor quickly lined up the second chestnut, aimed and fired, hitting him right between the eyes. 

Despite it being dark, this was almost too easy.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't quite explain how he felt... maybe he could have related twenty years ago, but this felt so much more... more...

As uneloquent as it was to say, awesome.

There was a skip in his step, he felt it, Ziio chuckling at him as he moved to open the car door, smile on his face- "Ah! The hell?"

He looked around, eyes squinting in the dark , and he saw it rolling over the street where it had landed: a nut of some sort? Judging from the angle it hit him it came from above, but no tree had that much force...

His son glanced at him from a distance, eyes narrowing as the second tree nut hit him between the eyes, stinging quite a bit, and Ziio stepped outside completely, not having retreated yet, and frowned as Haytham did.

"… Really?" He yelled it, loud enough for Connor to hear, rolling his eyes before Ziio looked toward the roof, able to make out the sling shot and piece the rest together. Oh he could not be serious, not after what Haytham did for them today!

"Connor, kitchen, NOW!"

Haytham blinked, backing away just a little from the tiny volcano that was the petite Ziio. Oh boy, so much for ending off on a good note, huh? "Go easy on him, I think he's a bit touched."

"When I'm through with him, he's going to be a bit _touched_."

Huh, so she was an advocate for tough love...

"It hardly changes anything." 

Ziio simply frowned, shaking her head at her supposed twenty year old son. "It's hardly the point."

"I know." And he did, truly, Connor was little more than an overgrown child. Still, the once happy Ziio was looking worse for wear, crossing her arms over her chest, almost pouting. Aw, little firework...

She gasped in surprise as he pulled on her hair, face upside down, and lips meeting her, tongue swiping as he bottom lip and sucking on it hard before letting go, dropping his hand from her hair. "What were you angry about?"

"… I was angry?"

He chuckled, letting her calm down before patting her shoulder and getting into his car. "Sleep tight, woman."

"You too, Haytham." He took off after she moved, shaking his head at his son's complete insolence. To be dealt with later, apparently the boy did not learn.

In the meantime, Ziio entered their house again, slamming the door, menacing look returning to her face. Of all the stupid... "Connor, I need to talk to you, now!"

-=-=-=-

… they were kissing again. He was touching again! Fucking hell! Connor sat up straight, fingers twitching around the handle of the sling shot but as much as the temptation was urging him on he was already in enough trouble.

He kept his eyes on Haytham, nearly burning a hole right through him with how venomous his glare was, until he finally, _finally_ got into his car and drove off.  
It was only until he turned around the corner that he allowed himself to relax slightly, shoulders slumping a little and he sighed deeply... Ziio was already inside and waiting for him to chew him out. There was no point in avoiding it any longer, he had called this upon himself and he didn't regret any of it.

Right then.

Standing up he collected his pillows and threw them through the window, leaving them on the floor of his room as he climbed through himself, closed it and tossed the blanket into a corner.  
The slingshot still dangled from his fingers as he entered the kitchen; the anger was still visible in his brown eyes, his movements stiff and twitchy.

“Why didn't you leave a call?” he asked before Ziio could even open her mouth, needing to say his piece before he was willing to bow down and deal with the consequences of his actions just now. “Not even a text to confirm you were gone with him? All I had were _his_ words and I don't have a reason to believe anything he says. Or did you forget that Wednesday is the only night my shift ends at ten? You know, I can understand it, I really can. I'm sure he's all charming and shit, but what I can't understand is why you're letting him close so quickly after so many years, just like that, like the fact he hasn't done shit for us for twenty years doesn't even matter!”

Angrily he tossed the sling shot onto the kitchen table and flopped down into a chair, offering a small shrug of his shoulders. “I don't regret it, just so you know. He deserved it and he should be glad I didn't use rocks.” Or his hunting bow.

-=-=-=-

Why didn't she leave a call? She almost felt guilty, until he mentioned Haytham telling him. That and because of Haytham they'd have tomorrow to spend together, a day instead of a few hours... that and...

"I can say the same for you, running off for hours yesterday. Someone had the courtesy to leave you a note, I'm glad. It was more courtesy than you gave me." Her voice remained steady and calm, but her thin hands trembled.

"I didn't forget anything, I have Thursday off now, as do you, permanently thanks to your father, and the clan leader has her chemotherapy paid in full thanks to him." She saw the surprise in his eyes but kept going, taking a step or two closer to him. "For your information, Haytham had me back at ten on the dot, but they decided to throw a bonfire for him as a thank you and invited us. You weren't here, so I went. I had fun, thank you for being concerned about by happiness."

She was almost ranting, her eyes never leaving her son as she eyed the sling shot, shaking her head. "You have no idea what he's offered to do, no idea what he has done, what we would have done, and why we decided what we did, but damn it Connor, it was a _joint_ decision. He didn't run off, he stayed for as long as he could, but-" And she paused, averting her eyes. He wouldn't understand, he wasn't mature enough too. Maybe in a few years, but certainly not now.

"… Throw the sling shot away, Connor. Throw it away, go take a shower, and go to bed so I can think of how to punish you after we go out tomorrow because your father stepped in." She turned on her heel, unable to stop her voice from cracking. "You have no idea what I- what _we_ went through. Maybe I'll tell you someday so you understand, but not while you're making threats and acting this way." 

Upset, she never truly got upset, but this was a rare occasion where it was warranted, and she walked away from her son, not wanting to look at him right now. She couldn't even explain things to him, because of his foolish behavior. She had wanted them to get along, to at least try... but...

How could she see Haytham with Connor acting this way? How long need she put up with this petty feud between the two? A week in and she was exhausted... it had to get better, right?

"… I'll cancel my dates with him. Good night." She left in silence, closing the door behind her, unable to keep from shaking. All these years... and this is how it would end.

-=-=-=-

Connor inwardly winced. Right shit, she was right there. He was a fucking hypocrite for accusing her for not leaving him a message while he had run away last night and made her worry just as much if not more.

He wanted to say that he had never asked for the help with his rescheduling at work. Yes, he was glad that he was now able to spend more time with her but he also knew, just knew that Haytham had only done it for her, not for him.   
He wanted to tell her that Haytham had been baiting him at work, which was largely responsible for the anger he had felt today, but it didn't feel right to bring that up now.

He was a little surprised to hear that Haytham actually had her back at the time he got off from work... he hadn't known about the bonfire though. This wasn't the first time he had jumped to conclusions about things he didn't know the full story of; he tended to do that a lot and it was a bad habit, one he was trying to break. It was easier said than done though.

Connor looked away, eyes on his folded hands. He didn't want to hear how it had been a joint decision... it was so much easier to blame everything on his no-good father than know that his mother had also agreed to it. Because he couldn't be angry at her for the fact that he had grown up not even knowing who his father was. He just couldn't. He just wanted to blame Haytham for everything, but this made it a lot more difficult. 

Everything Ziio said... fuck, he honestly felt guilty now. He had just been so... so angry, but in being angry, trying to get back at his father and pissing him off... he had hurt her too and that had never been his intention. That was another bad habit of him; he acted before he thought things over, allowed himself to be led by impulses. It wasn't good, it was something he needed to work on but he wasn't sure if he even could.

He slowly looked up, watching her leave the kitchen and close the door behind him. He rarely saw her upset like this and he realized that he had majorly screwed up today.  
Yes, glad that she would cancel her upcoming dates with Haytham... but at the cost of her own happiness. Was it worth it?

“Shit...” Pressing her forehead against the table Connor wrapped his arms around his head and closed his eyes. So many emotions... guilt, anger, frustration, sadness.

He'd do as she told tonight, and tomorrow... tomorrow he'd apologize. He had to. He'd be there for his mom, he'd fucking be there... maybe then she'd be less inclined to go back to Haytham and things, life could go back to the way they had been, without _him._

Standing up he picked up the sling shot and walked over to the trashcan, looking at the object in his hand with a frown before he tossed it inside and turned to go take his shower.

~*~

The following morning Connor left for school earlier than he usually did on a Thursday, to make up for lost homework time from the night before. Shaun and Myriam didn't notice a difference in his behavior – he was still agitated and silent – and they left him alone for the most part, offering silent comfort. He felt bad, they deserved an explanation but he didn't feel ready to talk about it, not while things were still so chaotic at home. He needed more time and he was sure they'd understand.

The day passed by in a blur, Connor paying little attention to what his teachers were telling. After school he and Ziio would go... somewhere, have some mother-son time together, but after last night he wondered if it would even help. He'd accept whatever punishment she deemed fit for last night, and he'd try his best to be pleasant today and avoid any unwanted topics... he'd let her decide where they would go too. He didn't care, he just... just wanted things to be right again between him and her, the way it had been before it all screwed over like it had.

“Mom?” he called out as he opened the front door and placed his bag on the floor in a corner. “I'm home.” He hadn't really decided how to apologize to her yet... mostly he was waiting for the right moment and hope that the proper words would come to him when he needed them. He needed to fix things...

-=-=-=-

Haytham felt better than he had in years, so good he did an extra five laps around his pool without noticing.

It was like feeling young again, like he had... oh he couldn't explain it, always preoccupied with work for every waking moment the past fifteen years. His whole life was military training, discipline, sweat, and work. On repeat cycle, for almost all of it's entirety. But now... he had time now. Subordinates, capable ones to handle some tasks so he needn't fret continuously. He could give Ziio what she deserved, treat her the way he wanted to. He could support her, provide for her... even for the irritating runt he had for a son.

Heh, he was in such a good mood he didn't even mind thinking about said irritating child; his mood was infectious even. Sure he didn't smile or skip around, throwing confetti with hearts in his eyes, but he wasn't demanding, wasn't making threats to eviscerate the lab tech who broke a test tube... and he even let that irritating intern get away with four full seconds of whistling before threatening termination.

He was growing soft... ah well, there were worse things.

It wasn't until ten that his phone rang; Haytham checked the number and his lips twitched. "Welcome back, woman."

_"We have to stop seeing each other."_

He blinked, once, staring at the phone before fake laughing, voice terse. "That wasn't funny."

_"I wasn't joking."_

His eye twitched, and again he lowered his phone to stare at it, heart racing. "… What happened?"

 _"I... we just can't, I'll text you later."_ She was upset, and it was only the third time he'd heard her sound this way... and the second time involving him.

"No, no Ziio this requires immediate explanation!" He hadn't done a damn thing wrong, last night was almost perfect, save for a few chestnuts...

Coal eyes narrowed, his voice dropping. "Did Connor put you up to this?" That sniveling, insolent little twit-

_"No, Haytham, you both did. I can't... this tit for tat spiteful relationship between you two, I can see where this is going and I... I can't play this game, Haytham, I can't. I'm still his mother, and you... have a better chance of moving on without me."_

"Ziio..."

_"Good-bye, Haytham. I'm sorry."_

And she was gone, just like that, out of his life. The moment she hung up the phone, she left for the shower, hoping the scalding water would chase away the constant flow of tears.

Haytham, on the other hand, could but sit there. He came back, and with it was the hope he could some day rekindle his relationship with Ziio. And now, there was no chance... none at all...

All because his son threw fucking chest nuts at him from a fucking roof. What the hell did that little prick say after he left? Sure he baited him, and yes he only did anything to impact Ziio but damn it, it wasn't as if Connor didn't benefit from it!

No... no this would not end like this, not now, not ever.

"Church, Hickey, attend the conferences today, detailed briefing will be held for information so they must be detailed.”   
The two men nodded and Haytham briskly walked towards an elevator, briefly passing Charles. "Won't be able to make it to the press conference fill, thanks."

Charles barely blinked, but Haytham was all ready gone, all ready taking the elevator to his car and his car to New Rochelle, because he would be damned if he gave Ziio up without a fight!

~*~

She sat by the table, occasionally sniffling, but not doing much more. Perhaps this is how it was meant to be, Haytham and her spent twenty years apart by choice- sure it was a difficult and depressing choice that they were apprehensive about but it was still a choice.

Maybe she could move on... date someone else. Ugh, her throat burned at the thought. She tried that, with not an ounce of success. No one made it past date three, and most wanted sex by then... not Haytham, no. It took him a few dates to kiss her properly, forget sex...

Smarter, better looking, subtle in his emotions but she understood that, she too was muted and they shared their reasons for being such.

His were frightening in comparison... and their history, their inside jokes, their... everything. Who could compare to Haytham Kemway?

No one, and she knew it because she had tried to replace him and failed.

She may never say it aloud, but Haytham was the first and only man she loved... but Connor was her son, she's been a mother for far too long to ignore his feelings, no matter how stern she could be.

A knock on the door and she wiped her eyes, trudging over and putting on a muted, blank face for Connor as she opened the door. "Hey, sweetie."

"Hey yourself, woman."

No... big brown eyes met grey and Haytham stuck his foot between the door and the wall, knowing her well. "Don't."

"… I can't now anyway."

"Mm." He wedged himself inside, brushing past and sitting at the kitchen table, crossing his arms. "Well? Explain."

Her mask was firmly in place, her voice as passive as always. "I all ready have."

"Cut the crap and explain, Ziio, and don't say this is because of chestnuts and an argument or two, we're tougher than that."

That she couldn't argue with... they'd been through so much, much more than she could explain, much more than anyone could understand. "… Connor..."

"Yes, he hates me, I don't care for him, but he's entitled to his feelings and I mine. He's an adult, there's nothing to worry about."

"Haytham, it's... more than that. The way he's been acting, I've never seen him this..."

"Immature? Stand offish? Blatantly child like?"

"You're proving my point, justifying my feelings by doing this."

"By what, not liking my son? That's my choice, it's a shared feeling... but we won't kill each other or anything, Ziio."

"I need stability, for you two to at least be able to talk civilly... to try to bond, Haytham. I need that, I really do."

"… Then we'll bond. We'll... go camping, like you wanted to, the three of us and I will promise to be on my best behavior." He wouldn't promise not to bait him, not to call him a name or two and snap but he would try. He could look at her face, devoid of emotion, but her eyes were lined with red. Oh Ziio... she never cried. How much did it hurt to do this... did it hurt her as much as it did him?

"I refuse to accept your goodbye, not until the day you die do you get to say good bye."

She said nothing, her face blank still, her mask almost impermeable. "Haytham?"

"Mm?"

"That's the gayest thing I've ever heard you say. I'm throwing up internally."

He fought the twitch of his lips, standing near her, close enough to smell her body wash. "Sorry, I'm dealing with this woman who likes to call me right before meetings and jostle my brain."

"… Oh shit..." And he still came all the way here...

"Mm, yes that's the term for it."

Silence, and Ziio met his eyes, unsure. " I... I still don't know..."

-=-=-=-

Hm... no answer? Frowning Connor shrugged out of his jacket and put it on a coat hanger, straightening his shirt as he listened for any sign that his mother- voices... he heard voices. Not one, but two, coming from behind the closed kitchen door.

Oh balls, please don't let it be who he thought it was. 

Tip-toeing his way over to the door Connor pressed his ear against it and scrunched his eyebrows together... that was his mother talking and there, right there, that was _his_ voice! That guy really didn't know when to give up, did he? The problem here was... he couldn't afford to make another scene in front of his mother. She was already hurting, he had already gone too far last night.

Fortunately there were more ways than one to deal with Kenway.

Steeling himself, Connor turned the doorknob and pushed it open, his eyes briefly landing on Haytham. It only lasted for a second before they focused on his mother again and softened, all the anger and frustration seeping out of them. “I'm home.” He walked towards her, kissing her on the cheek and placed his graded report on the Seven-Years-War on the kitchen table – an A minus. Professor Davenport never gave out straight A's, so an A minus was about as perfect as it came.

“So... have you thought about where we could go today?” he asked as he walked to the fridge and opened it, leaning forward so he could look at its contents and settled on a can of Mountain Dew. “Somewhere quiet maybe? Where we can talk?” Popping the lid he pushed the fridge shut with his foot and seated himself on the edge of the table, his back to Haytham.

If he couldn't fight with his father in front of Ziio, then he would just completely ignore his presence all together. Maybe, if he ignored him long enough he would simply cease to exist. Wouldn't that be awesome? 

-=-=-=-

Neither of them heard the door open, Ziio in the middle of explaining her situation to Haytham. "Our feelings are mutual, as ever. I just don't want the both of you to live like this, at each others throats. It isn't fair to either one of you."

Before Haytham could respond, could dare ask how it was fair that he had to loose her all over again when he wasn't acting particularly horrible, Connor himself waltzed through the door. The glare didn't go unnoticed, his eye twitching as he kissed her, completely ignoring him to turn to his mother.

Already she looked pained, but she hid it well, though not as well as she used to. Motherhood softened her, he could see it in her eyes; she was no where near as delicate or emotional as the other women he'd encountered, but her eyes had a softened touch, the sharp edges of her demeanor smoothed.

And that was fine, it just meant one thing; tactic change.

"Connor, we'll leave shortly-"

"Right after we all have a brief conversation."

Surprise, quickly hidden as unsure eyes met his, but he wouldn't give her the chance to refuse that offer- not that she would, but he wouldn't risk the chance.

"Connor, you're probably noticed that I'm a total douche bag." Said in his same matter of fact tone, he watched the corners of Ziio's lips twitch upwards, continuing. "It's not something I attempt to be, I just simply am, it's a matter of up bringing and I don't particularly care to change."

Ziio hid her confusion, watching Connor's face before darting her gaze back to Haytham. 

"You're immature and childish, though I assume there are some decent qualities that I've yet to encounter. One of my better qualities is my unyielding, brutal honesty." A pause and Ziio moved to make room for Haytham; Connor wouldn't look at him, but Haytham stood in front of him none the less, looking into his face and blatantly, softly declaring the truth.

"I don't like you, you don't like me. And that's fine." Haytham searched eyes that matched his mother's. "We don't have to like each other, we don't have to have the great father-son relationship every hall mark card shoves down every family's throat. I personally despise sentimentality, the notion of a one unified family. There is no such thing, not truly-"

"Haytham." The softness of her voice, and he shook his head, getting back to the point, all too aware of her fingers grasping his dangling hand. Comforting, even now, even on the urge of giving him up. No, he wouldn't loose her, he wouldn't.

He swallowed thickly, standing up right, eyes drifting back to neutrality. "As I said, we don't have to like each other, you can go on hating me. But there is no reason civility has to be abandoned, and no reason to make Ziio suffer for our inability to get along. She doesn't deserve it, we can both agree, her... her happiness is important. Our civility will make her happy, and hence, I call a truce."

She was in awe of him, staring at his back blankly, just listening to his silken words. "I'm going to continue to be a douche bag, but I'll consider what I say a little more, under the pretense that I don't get chest nuts flung at my head for taking your mother out on dates. I'll be back when you get off work, you spend your evenings and Thursdays with her, I spend my lunch hours and other free time with her."

"… And you both agree to do lunch bi weekly."

Pausing, Haytham frowned. "… Oh?"

"Mhm. You may not like each other now, but in order to be civil you need to bond, not avoid each other."

Damn, she had a point. "… All right. Lunch, you attend school not far from me, Connor. It shouldn't be an issue." He extended his hand, but not before turning to Ziio, her hand still tight around his. "Will this make you happy?"

"Yes." It was whispered, softly, and he had to look away from her glistening eyes, listening to her cough slightly behind him before he straightened. "Good. Connor... what say you?"

-=-=-=-

"Connor, we'll leave shortly-"

Yay!

"Right after we all have a brief conversation."

Oh balls...

Connor sipped his mountain dew angrily, keeping his eyes in front of him as Haytham spoke. And after barely a minute he couldn't even do that anymore as the bastard found it necessary to invade his personal bubble and stand right in front of him, nearly trapping him between himself and the table. Seriously, dude?!  
Grimacing Connor straightened, leaning back slightly and turned his head, staring at a dirty smudge on the fridge as Haytham continued his rant, about how they didn't have to like each other, it was fine to hate, they didn't need a decent relationship, but-

He frowned... he didn't want to admit it but Haytham was right – hell he had already known himself – Ziio's happiness was important and if that meant a... truce... oh dammit. Just what he didn't want. He wasn't looking forward to spent time with his father, why the hell would he even want to? But one glance up his mother's face, catching the hopeful gleam in her dark eyes, Connor knew that this was something he simply couldn't refuse.

He wasn't that selfish, or cruel. He supposed... he could make a bit of an effort to at least be, as she called it, civil around the guy... as long as he promised not to keep baiting him like that on purpose. Ugh... well, alright then-

"...And you both agree to do lunch bi weekly."

“What?!” Balking Connor's wide eyes settled on his mother, barely believing what he had just heard. She wanted them to do _what_ exactly? Lunch? With him? Every other week? The empty soda can cracked a little as his fingers tightened around it, every muscle in his body growing tense. Please disagree, please say no, please say no, please say n-

"… All right. Lunch, you attend school not far from me, Connor. It shouldn't be an issue."

Dammit.

It seemed to please Ziio though... a lot. That much he could tell from simply glancing at her and he sighed, staring down at the offered hand before he reached out and shook it. “Fine.” For her... he was only doing this for her. His eyes flitted up to his father's face and his hand tightened but he didn't expect to even see a flinch; Haytham was far too stoic for that, despite the strength Connor had in his hands.

Letting go he resisted the urge to wipe his hand with his shirt and hopped off the table, dumping the empty soda can into the trash as he turned to face his mother. “Shall we then?”

~*~

It was settled that lunch with Haytham would happen every other Tuesday, from 12PM to 1PM. Today was such a Tuesday and he wished he could have stayed in bed this morning. What sucked the most was that he couldn't spend his lunch hour with his friends, and from their reaction he could tell that they were equally bummed by the news as well. Bummed... and morbidly interested.

“So... tell me again just how they managed to convince you to have lunch with your disgustingly rich, world famous father every Tuesday?” Shaun asked as he twirled a pen between his fingers, walking with him and Myriam through the hallways down to the cafeteria. 

“Blackmail.” Connor answered darkly and hoisted his bag up so the strap stopped digging into his shoulder. “And it's not every Tuesday, it's once every two weeks. Jesus Shaun, don't make it sound even worse.”

“Where is he taking you? Do you know?” Myriam asked and he shrugged.

“Not a clue. I hope it's not something fancy. I'm really starting to hate fancy.”

“Hmmmm.... dinner with Haytham Kenway.” The dreamy look on Myriam's face was more than a little disturbing and Connor cleared his throat loudly, shoving her shoulder. 

“Cut that out!”

Myriam just smirked and threw her arms around his neck, giving him a quick peck on the lips before she took Shaun's hand pulled him into the cafeteria. “Good luck! I wanna know every little detail in class later on!”

He watched them go until they disappeared in the stream of hungry students and sighed, turning on his heel to leave campus.

A short bus ride later found him once again in front of the steps leading up towards the large entry doors of Kenway Corporations, where he was supposed to meet his father. The security guard at the entrance was a different one from last time but as Connor stepped inside and entered the lobby he saw that it was the same secretary. Great.

At least he wasn't trailing mud with him this time.

He moved in line and waited for her to deal with a fat businessman standing in front of him, and stepped forward when it was his turn. Clearing his throat she looked up and immediately her eyes narrowed as she took in his appearance. Oh, she remembered him! Yay...

“You again?” She asked and her hand drifted towards the phone, much like she had done the last time. No doubt to call security and he quickly raised his hands to stop her. 

“Whoa now, I actually do have an appointment this time.”

Her thin eyebrows rose up even higher and he sighed... why was that so difficult to believe? “Do you now?”

“Yes! Could you just...” He wildly gestured towards the phone. “do whatever it is you do and tell him I'm here? The name's Connor. And tell him to hurry, I only have an hour before class starts again.”

Still she did nothing, just stared at him, clearly not believing a word he said and Connor felt his frustration grow by the second. Had Haytham not even bothered to inform the woman that he'd be coming today? He probably thought this was all very funny!

“Please?” he asked through gritted teeth. Come on woman!

-=-=-=-

Thankfully Connor cared more about his mother than his own immature agenda, the first aspect of Connor he found himself not repulsed by.

They stuck to their agreement, and Ziio- quite happily in her own way- met him for lunch on Monday, much to the irritation of Charles who demanded to know what was going on with Haytham.

"Three missed meetings, Church filling in for you at a press conference, lunches at strange hours and..." He paused, Haytham's eyes on his phone, the barest of twitches encompassing full lips. "Are you listening to me?"

"Of course, Charles." His fingers nimbly typed back to Ziio; _help I'm being nagged at, SOS- save our souls- our being my majesty and self, I presume you know as much but in case your suffering a lapse-_

The phone was almost snatched from him, Haytham recovering quickly and fixing Charles with a blatant frown, finishing his text by adding, _...in judgement. And now he's touching me._

He knew Ziio hated Charles and vice versa, and in moments like this, were Charles was nagging him, he didn't mind in the least. Granted, Charles was his right hand and confidant, but sometimes he needed to relax- the company wasn't going anywhere, missing one meeting wasn't going to destroy twenty years worth of work.

"You're acting strangely, you're hiding something from me." And Haytham never hid anything from him... so what was this obvious secret he kept? Blue eyes narrowed as Haytham's phone beeped once, the man checking a text and covering his mouth, the slight crows feet crinkling at the corner of his eyes as he read Ziio's message.

_Quickly, tell him a joke, if he smiles the grease from his hair might drip into his eyes and you can run away._

_Ziio, I'm sure his, er, issues are glandular._

The response was immediate, Haytham watching Charles become increasingly aggravated out of the corner of his eyes. '

_Yeah, his issues are glandular and my chest is a G cup. I call bullshit_

He had to stuff the phone away, shaking his head and giving Charles his full attention- he was still a close friend after all. "It's nothing, really. I'm just having a bit of fun, Charles. I take my work very seriously, you know that."

"I'm aware, but for success, you need to stay on top of it, you know that better than anyone." Yes, yes he did... work was a constant he knew that. He performed well, disregarded excuses and commanded excellence. He was a presence, he knew that.

"We'll talk more after lunch, all right?" Grabbing his jacket, Haytham leisurely left, Charles walking behind him. 

"Lunch?" But they always ate together, except for yesterday... what the hell was going on? He followed Haytham to the lobby, again in awe of what he found there- that half breed again, probably a Native mix judging by the ornaments in his hair. How second class, average, mundane-

The secretary went to page Haytham, only to find him a few feet away. "Mr. Kemway, your visitor is back, shall I show him the-"

"That won't be necessary, he'll be coming Tuesdays bi weekly, be sure to escort him to my office next time, I have lab work to attend to." Stunned, she nodded, Charles watching the pair, glowering. Why was Haytham giving this... this... random, vagabond child his attention? He already gave him money last time, what more did this boy want?

"Hope you don't mind take out, I do have a lab exercise to complete." Not that Haytham cared if Connor minded, but it sounded so much more polite to sound like he did. He'd give it a try for Ziio, she was worth that much.

"Haytham, were are you two going?" A raised eyebrow and Haytham's arms crossed over his chest. "My lab, for lunch. I need to reconfigure the molecular schematic on the soft tissue scanner, the pixilation is a tad dull for the presentation. Simple enough to do while we eat." Not that he owed Charles an explanation, it was his company, but he didn't like the look in the other man's eye. They'd known each other for too long, and while Charles allowed them to step into the elevator alone, Haytham's eye couldn't help but twitch.

This wasn't over, Charles was a friend but he had a habit for being notoriously mouthy.

Pushing that thought aside, he turned to Connor as the elevators opened, his entire laboratory empty and ready for his personal use. It spanned an entire floor, everything from bio engineering to medical supplies and radioactive pharmaceuticals were in separate, organized units. He walked briskly, clack of his expensive dress shoes loud against the marble. 

"How's school coming along? What are you majoring in exactly?" He knew it was history of some sort- ugh, liberal arts- but he'd feign curiosity to make this tolerable and he provided a few menus to Connor before grabbing a set of tools. This part wouldn't require goggles or gloves... yet. Hopefully the boy wasn't too squeamish.

-=-=-=-

Ah, there he was. And ugh, Greasy was with him. Connor met Charles' gaze without flinching; this wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with someone who thought less of someone of mixed blood and it certainly wouldn't be the last time either. Go figure that his father would hang out with someone like that. He kept silent though, swallowing whatever nasty reply he had ready; he wasn't even five minutes into the first lunch with his father, it would do him no good to already fuck it up.

With one last glare at Charles Connor turned and followed his father into the elevator, leaning against the wall and looking everything but interested in where they were going. So this was his personal lab. Who cared?

“Take out's fine.” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders, and straightened as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The laboratory was pretty much as he had expected it to be; large, white, sterile looking that instantly reminded him of the dentist and full with equipment he couldn't even guess the function of. It was huge, spanning an entire floor and Connor arched his eyebrow at Haytham's back; overcompensating much?

Following him towards a table pulled a chair back and turned it around, setting his bag on the floor sitting down, resting his arms on the back rest. “It's fine.” he answered, catching the feigned curiosity and interest in Haytham's voice; it was well disguised but it was there. “I major in history, American history for the most part but European history as well. Right now I'm involved in a big project about the Revolutionary War, but I'll spare you the details because I know you don't give a crap anyway.”

He took the menus and skimped them over quickly – truthfully he wasn't all that hungry and there was nothing on there that really tickled his interest – or his stomach. Oh... speaking of food. Reaching down he zipped open his bag and pulled out a square plastic container. “Left over macaroni casserole from last night. Mom told me to give it to you. Heat it up or throw it away, I don't care.” Tossing the container on the table where Haytham was doing... whatever it was that he was doing because he certainly didn't have a clue, Connor slowly swiveled the chair around to better observe his surroundings... until his phone started vibrating.

Frowning he reached down and fished his phone out of his pocket, looking at the text message flashing on the screen.

_Hey hows it goin? What u eatin? Is he behavin? Give ur hot dilf a hug for me! Xxx M_

Jesus, Myriam! Haytham was a DILF? Fuck no! Unfortunately he knew all too well what that meant; Connor felt the redness creep to his face as he quickly texted a _'ur insane!'_ back to her and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“So uh...” Clearing his throat he pulled his hoodie over his hair and tugged it down over his eyes as he gestured around the lab, desperate to have something, anything to talk about to get the horrible mental images Myriam's text message had provided him with out of his head. “What do you do all day? Have you cured cancer yet?”

-=-=-=-

He frowned, but left Connor's comment alone. No, he didn't give a crap about history to be honest, although... oh he'd mention it later maybe. Just maybe. Only because it was an interesting tidbit of information.

Hm? Eying the container he felt his tips twitch, and he made for his own phone, texting Ziio. _Lunch? How courteous. Am I often in your thoughts during the twilight hours?_

While Haytham's talents extended to the kitchen, it remained a wasted one, what with cooking for a single person. He placed the container in the fridge a few feet away, getting back to his task before tilting his head curiously. He wasn't sure if that was quip or not...

"Not... precisely." He mulled it over, Connor probably didn't care about what he did either, but he had to fill the space with something other than silence. "I'm a medical doctor with a PhD. in medical technology. My company is charge of mass production of radioactive pharmaceuticals that are beginning to specialize in targeting individual cancer cells within a patient." He paused, thinking of an example.

"Say a person develops cancer of the pancreas. Instead being treated to doses or radiation that would expose the entire body to its massive effects, including loss of healthy cells, hair, and the increased bouts of nausea, this concentrated dose, targeted for a certain area would limit the amount of exposure to chemotherapy and would save them from the after affects. Or such is the hope in the near future. So I suppose the answer to your question is, I'm working on it."

Right, small computer screen brightened before him, Haytham widening the image before squinting, adjusting the setting quickly before taking a small screw driver to the back. "My particular job is mass producing the molecular technology to make detection possible, which is what I'm working on configuring as we speak. Hope your not squeamish, I need to get a few kidneys to run a scan." A slight pause, and he turned to Connor impassively.

"How... is your mother?" Yeah, he knew he saw her yesterday but...

"… Any idea of places she'd like to visit? It's for Saturday." They couldn't say he wasn't trying to bond, he was extending the olive branch. His son was just making it... difficult, as per usual.

Heh, his lips twitched upwards at the thought. He was like his mother in that respect.

-=-=-=-

… ah. Well then, he wasn't completely useless then was he? If he figured out a way to cure cancer then he could earn bonus points. Myriam would like this news though. Her grand mother had died of lung cancer a few years back and though it was too late for her, if Haytham managed this... then again that would probably make him even more of a DILF in Myriam's eyes.

Ew.

“No I'm not squeamish.” he answered with a shrug and waved his hand. “I gut and skin my own game during hunting season, I can handle a few kidneys.” Pft, please. He had gotten his hands bloody on worse things.

The next question caught him off guard a little and blinking at Haytham, he wasn't sure what to think. It wasn't really surprising that the topic would eventually turn to his mom because that was pretty much the only thing Haytham was interested in and could talk to him about. And the question was valid true enough. He had plans himself this upcoming saturday and they had agreed that Haytham could take Ziio out on the days he worked.

So alright then. He kept his stare up for a few more seconds but then his shoulders sagged and he leaned back, thinking the question over. “Well you already met the other clan members, right?” Yeah he did, when they had a bonfire in his name, ugh. But hey, even he would agree that it had been for a good reason and that yes... maybe Haytham had deserved that one. What he had done for their clan leader had been very nice indeed.

Of course he'd never admit to that out loud.

“Mom's like me in a lot of ways, likes going out doors. Nature, going on walks, that sort of thing. Occasionally she likes to go to the shopping mall but...” Hm. Yeah well... occasionally, because where was the fun when all you could do was look and watch other people buy the things they wanted because you had to watch your own money because you were tight on it?

But Haytham had plenty of money, more than he knew what to do with. Of course there was the problem with Ziio not wanting to accept any of it.

Brows furrowing Connor turned around in his chair, away from Haytham and crossed his arms over his chest. “I guess you could take her out to the mall, it's been a while for her.”

-=-=-=-

Outdoors, yes he was aware of that. Normally a snide comment about stating the obvious would be made, but it was more than likely that Connor didn't realize how many camping trips they'd been on, or the fact that he had been in military boot camp from the age of seven until he graduated high school. His eye twitched at the thought of his own mother, but he shoved it aside.

No way he was telling him that, however. No, only Ziio and Charles knew of that part of his life.

He noticed the pause and frowned ever so slightly, concentrating and fixing one last wire, placing the back in place and tightening screws before setting it down. He searched briefly for disposable gloves, removing his suit jacket and dawning the lab coat hanging from the hook by the door to replace his dress coat with it. Really he shouldn't be doing this here, he'd need to clean up extra fluids from the surfaces, but that was fine.

"Mm. Stereotypical, but understandable I suppose." He walked past Connor, out into another room briefly, before walking back in with an iced contained, opening the contents and revealing the fresh kidneys, setting the box right on the table before setting up the dyes and injections. "The issue is, your mother has a habit of not accepting any of the money I send her or attempt to give her."

He kept his eyes on the task at hand, brows furrowing- scalpel? Oh yes, in the drawer by Connor. "Fetch me the scalpel, second drawer on the right, in the black and I stress _black_ cloth." How many times did they hand him the brown cloth? Honestly, simple directions...

"… Give me your mothers' credit and debit card numbers, and her paypal account if she has one."

-=-=-=-

 _Stereotypical up your ass_ , Connor thought and scowled as Haytham donned a lab coat, looking every bit the crazy scientist in his eyes.  
Ah well, nothing that he could say would please the bastard anyway. He didn't need to get to know the guy to figure that Haytham would always something to complain about, would always find a fault somewhere and deem it necessary to point it out.

Whatever the guy had up his ass, clearly it had been stuck there far too long.

“She doesn't want a pity party, that's why she doesn't accept it.” Money was something you worked for, though the occasional gift on special days was always nice and never turned down but other than that... that's how it had always been, that's what he had grown up learning because that's how Ziio saw things. 

The more money Haytham tried to shove into her face, the more reluctant she'd be to accept it.

“Yes yes, black. I heard you the first time.” Grumbling Connor shifted and yanked open the drawer, fishing out the requested scalpel and handing it to his father. Couldn't even get a please... nor even a thank you. Christ, this guy... if this was what a lot of money did to a guy then he didn't even want to be rich!

“I'm not giving you anything. Firstly, what makes you think I know my mother's credit and debit card numbers out of the top of my head? I rarely use them.” Usually only when he was send out for groceries and the like. Which fortunately wasn't often. That was one chore he really, really hated to do. “No paypal either. What are you planning anyway? Force money on her that way? I can tell you right now that that won't make her like you more and she won't accept it either.” It was said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Connor leaned back, propping his feet up on the table and folding his hands behind his head.

“Just do the traditional thing, take her out and buy her nice stuff. Really old man, it's not that difficult.” Ugh god, was he really explaining to his own father tips how to take out a woman?

-=-=-=-

Pity party?   
Frowning, he accepted the scalpel without a word, slicing slide thin specimens of his sample. Huh, he knew all his credit card numbers, but then again he was overly cautious with finances, a trait inherited by the rather wealthy yet quaint life style his own father had favored. No, he was quite used to having money, a luxury he wished Ziio would let him bestow. It’s not like she didn’t deserve it, and unfortunately, she turned down his attempted monthly payments to her, a sort of child support agreement they too had concocted. She never stuck with it though, only accepting the rare check. While Haytham wrote his disapproval a time or two, it simply hadn’t been the most worrisome thing on his mind.   
His frown quickly turned to an undignified chortle, and he covered his mouth to keep from smiling, resting his face in the crook of his elbow momentarily before continuing.  
“Oh yes Connor, please do enlighten me with your wisdom regarding the opposite sex. What with the hordes that surround you, I’m surprised you can find the time.”  
His voice remained neutral as he said it, continuing to cut thin slices, setting them aside one by one for further trimming. “And I’m all too aware of your mother’s pride, it would hardly be the first time I bruised it, but it’s a necessity in this case.” He cut enough; he just needed them smaller to fit on his slides, and began slicing with precision. ”I can’t allow her to struggle. I won’t stand for it while I’m here. Perhaps my actions will anger her- which I’m sure saddens you so very much- but she’ll get over it. “Her life would be easy, he’d make sure of that, even if his methods were outside the normal, acceptable realm. She knew his intentions, better than anyone; sure she’d be angry at first but she’d forgive his blunder. She always did.  
He’d find the necessary information later and in his own way. Placing a sample aside, Haytham had promised to ask him something for the sake of his mother- of course, how he’d ask it would vary just a tiny bit.  
“Speaking of women, impregnate Myriam in the next few years. Your mother wants grand kids and you two don’t fool anyone with your ‘secret’- and I loose the term loosely- glances and the like. So get to it within three to five years, that’ll give you time to graduate and obtain an adequate way of surviving I’m sure.”  
Heh, oh he loved it when people sputtered, his lips twitching. So he didn’t ask what was up with Myriam and he in those exact words but he knew what she wanted. That and he was still Haytham; watching Connor glare and sputter awkwardly was still hilarious.  
-=-=-=-

Connor rolled his eyes and zipped open his bag again, reaching down for bottle of water he always brought with him to school. Pft just because he didn’t switch girlfriend every other week didn't mean he didn't know how to treat one. And from what he had seen so far, Haytham's own methods weren't exactly normal either.

Either way, he did not dignify it with a verbal response and instead just tipped his head back, the mouth of the bottle on his lips. Whatever man.

“You've allowed her to struggle for twenty years.” Yes, because she didn't accept any of his money, but it was still an odd thing to say. 'Not while I'm here.' Oh please, that was the lamest excuse he'd ever heard. Connor watched his father work for a while, handling the sharp scalpel with a skill and efficiency that was somewhat impressive, and glanced at the clock. Hm, twenty minutes left before he had to take the bus back to school. He wished time would go faster... never would he have thought he'd be eager to get his ass to school, but it beat this.

Connor took another chuck from the bottle, just as; “Speaking of women, impregnate Myriam in the next few years-” His breath hitched, water flowing down the wrong way and he slammed the bottle on the table as he doubled over, coughing and hacking. “W-what the fuck, o-old man?!” he gasped and rubbed his throat, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, glaring imaginary daggers at his father's back. Did he have to be so blunt about it? “We're _not_ in a relationship!” he growled as he screwed the cap back on his water bottle and stuffed it down in his bag. “We tried, it didn't work out. We grew up together, she's like a sister to me and mom knows that.” They remained best friends... with benefits. Occasionally he and Myriam did have sex but it was a purely physical thing, a way for both of them to vent and release and relax. He wasn't looking for a relationship and neither was she, plus Connor was pretty sure that she didn't want kids anyway. Myriam didn't seem the type.

As for him, fifty percent chance that he'd end up with a guy anyway and he wasn't going to adopt. Hell... he wasn't a kid person himself either.  
Only mom, Shaun and Myriam knew that he considered himself bisexual and he preferred to keep it that way.

“You really have to work on your delivery. Then again, you're probably an asshole on purpose.”

-=-=-=-

Oh, they weren't even dating? Huh, Ziio was strange sometimes, maybe that was supposed to be humor? Ah well it made little difference, Connor's reaction was thoroughly amusing.

Except for the one part that made Haytham's eyes narrow, and he stopped for just a moment to peer at his son. "You're mistaken." He'd offer no further elaboration, Ziio kept the details to herself, and he understood why. She had done what she had to, and he in turn the same given the circumstances. Perhaps Connor would mature one day, allowing for a proper explanation... but that day was clearly in the distance.

"I make no attempt at behaving either poorly or politely, I simply behave in my own, unfiltered manner, as is practice. Whether that's perceived as being an asshole is open to interpretation." Pausing he set the first slide in place, thin glass adhering to the small strip above. He'd run it under the microscope momentarily, all this slicing made him hungry. "Put your mothers food in the microwave, I'm famished. And fetch me the sugar. And stop glaring at me, my head won't explode no matter how long or often you wish it would."

-=-=-=-

... yeah, he was an asshole. An asshole, a douche bag, a bastard and everything else. And surely he wasn't the only one who thought that way. There was nothing anyone could do about though. Haytham wasn't going to change, he probably didn't even want to.

Was being an asshole genetic? He sure hoped not.

Aaaand there he went again, bossing him around like he had the right to do so. Haytham was his father maybe, technically, but that didn't mean he had to listen to a word he said, or do as he was told. He glanced at the plastic box holding his mothers casserole and sighed. Yeah, how about no?

Standing up Connor pushed his chair back and walked over to where his father stood, stopped next to him and leaned sideways, blocking his view from the slices he had been working on. Peering right up into Haytham's face Connor blinked and smirked, his lips pulling back. “How about a please or a thank-you, hm? I'm not one of your employees you can boss around and expect I'll do whatever the hell you want me to do. Mom told me to give it to you, I did, it's yours. Warm it up yourself.”

-=-=-=-

And now he couldn't see, his slightly shorter son blocking his damn view. And Haytham couldn't help the scoff that left his mouth, arms crossing over his chest.

"How about I don't say please, and you heat my food up because I said so, and never you mind a thank you, just do as you're told." Honestly, he was twenty, he wasn't asking him to run a marathon, it was just a plate of food. How melodramatic must he be?

He would have added to it, said something snarkier until he too crossed his arms, taking a little stance that Haytham recognized immediately. His weight rested on one hip, lips pursed, and brown eyes narrowed angrily, a perfect replica of irritated Ziio.

He couldn't help it, he snorted, his lips twitching, and his voice soft.

"You look just like your mother, sparing the masculinity." It was endearing, her sass on someone else, and for a moment he simply, almost grinned. "But you're not so go heat my food like a good lad."

-=-=-=-

Connor quickly took a step back, not having expected a reply like that. The sudden softness in Haytham's voice was the most disturbing of it all and he grimaced. “You know what?” He turned and grabbed the plastic container off the table, He ripped the lid off as he walked to the nearest trashcan, pressing the pedal with his foot to open it and turned the container. The cold casserole flopped into smelling mess that was already inside and Connor stepped back. 

“Go hungry. I don't care. If you insist on being a dick...”

Pressing the lid back onto the container he walked back to his chair and lifted his bag onto the table, zipping it open and stuffed the container inside. His lunch hour wasn't up yet but he was sick of this, dealing with his prick father and his bossy ways.  
Hoisting it onto his shoulder he turned and shot Haytham a glare. “Thanks for nothing by the way.” What a waste of time...

“I can find my own way out...” Turning on his heel he stomped back towards the elevator. Tuesdays were gonna suck from now on...

-=-=-=-

.. .He could could only stare at the waist bin, eye twitching as Connor dumped what Ziio made for him into the trash and took off.

His fingers twitched, the only reason he wasn't out the door chasing him down due to the fact that he _would_ have punched Connor in the face. That in itself didn't sound horrible, but he promised Ziio.

He could come back to the specimens in a moment. Removing bloody gloves and his lab coat, Haytham walked slowly, wondering if there was a point in even going after him. Connor blamed him for everything anyway, and he wouldn't offer apologies when he hadn't done anything wrong. Yes he was bossy, that didn't mean he had to overreact like some sort of child. Insolence on legs, he wondered if Ziio ever took a hand to his backside... probably not, she didn't share his view on physical discipline. A shame, Connor could use a session of physical repercussion, but it felt out of place here.

Strange, there was no elevator movement... had Connor tried to loose him and take the stairs? Wonderful, he really wanted to check ten flights of stairs-

"… running in here like some barbarian in a playground, half dressed in Indian clothing. You can tell you're trash, your mother is an Indian isn't she?"

Haytham _knew_ that voice, and the one that commented, though he couldn't hear it over the pounding of blood in his ears. He thought Charles was better than this sort of behavior. Had he learned nothing all those years ago?!

The open office of a random technician, and Haytham walked quietly, nearing the door as Charles continued his tirade, his back to Haytham and Connor's angry face. Again, reminiscent of Ziio, it seems Charles would not get along with either.

"Haytham may have taken an interest in you, but I see what you really are. In time he will too, you savage." 

In his sons face, spewing filth, Haytham reacted before fully thinking when the next word left his lips. 

"Bet your mother is a savage too, the only Indian I ever met was as savage as a wild dog-"

Connor needn't do a damn thing, Haytham already had Charles against the wall, fingers straining in a tight, forcible grip around his neck in what was a fit of rage. "What venomous, false _garbage_ are you spewing at my _son?_ "

-=-=-=-

On second thought, Connor avoided the elevator. It was less likely that he would run into anyone if he took the stairs and seeing as he had left early, he had plenty of time.

Christ, what did mom see in him anyway? Of course Haytham was kissing up to her, throwing in all his faked charm so she wouldn't see what he was truly like? He couldn't imagine that she _liked_ the real Haytham, the kind of guy he was when Ziio wasn't there to keep him in check. He wasn't nice, he wasn't friendly, he was rude, he was cruel, he was-

“Hey, watch it!”

Connor blinked, quickly taking a step back and blinked, having been so lost in thought he had nearly run into someone between the sixth and seventh floor. “Sorry.” he muttered and attempted to walk past the man, but a strong hand curled around his upper arm and pulled him back. Stumbling back he tilted his head back to get a better look at the man from under the rim of his hoodie and frowned – oh great, it was Greasy. Just his luck. He glanced down at the hand that still held a tight grip on his arm and reached out to push it away – instead, Charles tightened his grip and dragged him to the other side of the hallway, away from the stairs and into some kind of office. Once there he let go, only to wipe his own hand on his shirt as if he had just touched something unsanitary – the movement wasn't lost on Connor but he remained silent about it as he straightened his sleeve. This wasn't the first time he had dealt with situations like this. “I said I was sorry, alright? Now if you'll excuse me, I have a bus to catch.”

Again he tried to walk past Charles, hands shoved into his pockets but the man quickly side stepped and blocked him from reaching the stairs. “You have some nerves, boy.” he sneered. "Running in here like some barbarian in a playground, half dressed in Indian clothing. You can tell you're trash, your mother is an Indian isn't she?"

Charming. Connor stayed silent, narrowed eyes glaring at him from the shadow cast by his hoodie. Clearly Haytham was keeping secrets from his colleagues; not his problem but seeing as Greasy was someone he went out to have lunch with Connor had thought that Haytham would have told him they were related at least. Obviously not.   
Hidden in his pockets his hands slowly clenched into fists, his anger bubbling under the surface; oh how he would love to beat some sense into this guy. It was 2012 but some people still thought that racism was perfectly fine!  
Connor tried to control his temper though, difficult as it was. He kept his eyes away from Charles, glaring at a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall a few feet away, his shoulders shaking in silent anger. 

He had once beaten a guy straight into the hospital for saying similar things Greasy was saying to him now. He had been arrested by the police and had spend a few days in jail until a family friend in Boston had put forth money to bail him out. He had been summoned to court as well later on to defend himself against the accusation of the man he had beaten but fortunately that hadn't led to more problems. For one thing, Myriam had been a witness and secondly, the guy had not just insulted him and his mother, but had threatened them as well.  
The court had been in his favor that day, almost by a miracle.

Still, he wasn't eager to repeat it by beating up one of his father's co workers, that wouldn't go over well. He had gotten lucky once, it was unlikely he'd be lucky a second time.

"Haytham may have taken an interest in you, but I see what you really are. In time he will too, you savage. Bet your mother is a savage too, the only Indian I ever met was as savage as a wild dog-"

A white blur, a short cry and a loud thud, and Connor blinked, stepping back and eyes widening as he watched Haytham push Charles against the wall with a grip on his throat. He was more than surprised to hear him admit that they were related out loud, but still he quickly stepped forward and put his hand on Haytham's shoulder, tugging lightly. “Just leave it. I'm used to it, he's not worth it.” Shooting Charles a glance he narrowed his eyes before tugging on his father's shoulder again. “Just drop it, dad.”

-=-=-=-

Charles said nothing, gaping in shock. Haytham hadn't done _this_ to the other man, the last time being a comment he made about... Oh no. No, no, NO!

As Charles began his mental panic, Haytham's grip remained as tight as ever. He didn't care how many times Connor may have been through this prior, it was unacceptable! Racism, bigotry, in this day and age was completely disgusting.

The second time a hand shook him his grip actually tightened, only ceasing as he blinked in surprise.

He'd realized what he said, sure, but he never expected Connor to acknowledge it.

"… As you request, Connor." Oh he let go all right, immediately, allowing Charles to collapse in on himself, sputtering as his mind clearly reeled. Haytham simply turned to his son, mask back in place. "Get back to school, I'll handle this." A pause, and Haytham added almost out of nowhere. "Your great something or another grandfather immigrated to the states before the Revolution. I'm sure I can dig up information regarding his involvement, he lived in New York at the time. I wouldn't mind ascertaining more information for your project, if need be."

His eyes darted back to Charles, who had seemed to regain his composure and breath. "Emergency meeting for all the executives. Call them _now._ " A hissed demand, and Haytham turned on his heel, fingers twitching. "Until Saturday then." He'd take Ziio shopping... his fingers still twitched and he allowed the brief contact, patting his confused son twice on the back before departing. Time to get everything out in the open, then.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, so many thanks to everyone who commented and gave kudos! We love you guys! <333 Please enjoy this chapter, it's one of my personal favs. Like last time I fixed as many typos as I could find but there might still be a few my spelling check didn't filter out.

Winter had really kicked in by now, covering the streets of New York in a thin layer of snow that would soon be thickening, the skies grey and the winds cold and piercing. Most students were in a hurry to reach the warm interior of the school, but Connor took his time. The wind was annoying but he had always liked the sound and feel of snow crunching under his boots, how it turned the world white.

These were perfect times for him and Myriam to go into the woods, to track animals and have a competition about who could find the most. That was for later though. First he still had to struggle his way through half a week of school and work. Luckily it was Wednesday, meaning he had the next day off. As much as he hated to admit it, Haytham's help in that department had been appreciated.

It was lunch hour; he and Myriam sat slouched at a table stashed in the back of the cafeteria. Shaun would have joined them under normal circumstances but he had run off to the library as soon as class had finished, yelling over his shoulder that he had need of a couple of particular books for a project he was working on and that he'd join them later. Connor knew he wouldn't. Knowing Shaun he'd completely loose track of time and not pull his nose out of the books until the bell rang for the next class.

It was fine really. It gave him an opportunity to talk.

“Sooooo... do you ever want kids?”

Myriam, who was halfway through taking a bite of her burger, paused and slowly turned her head to look at him. Connor avoided her eyes at first but after a few seconds of no answer he glanced up, meeting her wide open eyes. “I mean,” he quickly stammered and shrugged, fidgeting with his fork. “Out of curiosity, you know? You're a woman and everything-”

“Really? I'm a woman? Gee, I hadn't noticed, thanks for telling me. And here I was starting to worry that these two lumps on my chest were tumors.” Dropping her burger back on her plate she turned in her chair to face her friend fully. Connor couldn't help but notice that she was doing that thing where she frowned with her whole face, a sign that she was thoroughly confused. “What prompted this question?”

Another awkward shrug and he already regretted he had asked. “You know... just curious.”

“Just curious...? Really? You just asked me if- oooooooooooooooh.” Slamming her fist on the table Connor jumped slightly and blinked at her, not sure if he liked the sudden smirk on her face. Myriam leaned forward, getting right into his face and waggled her eyebrows at him. “Do _you_ want kids?” 

Connor balked. “No!” She kept staring, and he quickly raised his hands, leaning away from her until he almost lost his balance and fell out of his chair. “No! I don't want kids, I just-”

“Then why did you ask?”

“...” 

Raising one of her eyebrows she watched as Connor slumped down in his chair, his chin resting on the table. Okaaaaay? “Let me guess... your dad?” A tense nod and she had to stifle her giggle with the back of her hand. She shouldn't be laughing but it was funny! What had his father said to him to make him ask such a question, to her of all people?

“Right on the first day, he butts into my private life and pretty much demands that I give my mom grand kids within the next three to five years.” He turned his head so it was flat on the table. “With you.”

“Oh really? I'm flattered he wants me to be the mother of his grand children.”

“Ugh, he doesn't want grand children. Besides, I told him that we didn't work out as a couple.”

“Oh? And what did he say?”

Connor shrugged. “He didn't seem fazed by it.”

“Hm. And did you tell him that we still occasionally boo-ha despite not being a couple?”

Connor scrunched his eyebrows together. Boo-ha? The hell was boo-ha? “It's none of his damn business who I do it with.” 

Myriam smirked and clapped him on his shoulders before standing up and grabbing her bag. “Come on, on your feet. Class will start soon and we still have to drag Shaun away from the library.”

Grumbling Connor stood up as well and slung his bag over his shoulder, following her out of the cafeteria and towards the library where they, as expected, found Shaun behind a pile of open books. By the time they had put every book back into its proper place class had already nearly started and they had to run to make it on time before the teacher arrived.  
Shaun rushed inside the classroom to ready his things but when Connor tried to do the same, Myriam stopped him by pulling on his sleeve. “Going back on our previous conversation...” she purred as she ran a finger along his jaw and leaned closer. “We should have a little get-together again some time soon. Whaddaya say?”

“Errrrr...” Swallowing thickly Connor felt the redness creep to his cheeks as Myriam leaned even closer, so close their lips almost touched. His own lips suddenly felt dry but licking them would mean... she was _so_ close...! “Er... y-yeah, okay.”

She grinned. “Great. My place, I'll call you when I have a date.” With that she closed the distance between them, catching his lips in a kiss that despite it lasting only a few horridly short seconds, told him everything he needed to know. She pulled back then and with a last wink entered the class room.

… hot damn! He didn't think he'd be able to wipe the smirk off his face as he cleared his throat and adjusted his collar before entering the class room as well, his mood significantly better.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't believe he was letting them do this, and yet it was almost comically appropriate that they would. Two weeks passed between the incident with Charles Lee, whom Haytham let the grudge go only because he was a significant, valuable friend for so very long.

That same day as he requested, it had happened. All his executives- Church, head of treasury; Hickey, head of radio-pharmaceutical distribution; Johnson, co founder and head of marketing; Pitcairn, head of sales, and naturally Charles, the seething but silent Vice President of the company. He couldn't even look the man in the face, he'd been so infuriated.

To say they were shocked would have been an understatement, the only one believing him to be serious being Charles and William, who balked openly before shutting his mouth. Calm, as always, and much more polite than most the company he kept, he silenced the other men with a glare.

"How old is... he or she?"

"He is twenty, to be twenty one some day soon." An inward wince- he didn't know the date, Ziio never told him and again, he never asked. He should find that out though, shouldn't he? That would be... fatherly, right? Oh, like he even knew how to be fatherly.

Pitcairn kept shaking his head, leaning against their table in boredom. "Right there, Haytham, 'em sure you 'av a lil bloke runnin' aroun'. I think you'd 'ave more sense than using unprotected sex."

"Unless he was whisked away in a moment of passion." 

Haytham glowered as Church snorted, Hickey chiming in. "Oh yeah, 'cause Haytham's a regular volcano of passion. The only girl to ever inspire any emotion from the guy was..."

Silence, and like something out of a movie they all turned to him, Haytham's expression betraying nothing.

"No way."

"You're bluffin'. You gotta be."

"… you can't be serious."

"Oh but he _is_ , gentlemen." Eyes drifted towards Lee, his silence dually noted by a few men. "Alive, in his twenties, and very Indian."

" _Native_ , Charles. Watch your tone lest you test me once more." Blue eyes stayed defiant but spoke nothing further, the men looking amongst themselves before Johnson cleared his throat. "I suppose... this was meant to be kept a secret because of the..." he paused, knowing full well how the corporation started, with the help of a business man who wouldn't aid them if they started families.

_‘Business men do not and can not have families.’ Side by side they stood, Johnson not bothering to look at Haytham, already obviously fancying that Native girl from a large New York suburb. ‘It distracts from work, staves production... no, family men soon loose their motivation. If I am to invest in you two, this cannot happen, or consider our agreement undone.’_

They'd agreed upon it, sure; they were young enough, just graduated with doctorates. Bred for success, despite their own personal issues. They had little choice but to comply, their business idea, their strategy was new, and while invigorating in its originality, it needed a strong, powerful sponsor. There was only one.

Give up on hundreds of thousands of dollars of education, years of experience or practice, or submit to a foolish rule in their prime? It was the obvious choice to make...

Of course, the original back was long gone... but by the time he died... Johnson understood completely.

"Have you seen Ziio then? "Haytham stilled, before nodding once, his old friends face breaking into a grin. "Is she well?"

"Yes, very." No one could miss the softening tone, though it left one man smiling and another scowling.

"Perhaps we could meet him, sometime." William couldn't imagine a small Haytham running about, not one with both his and Ziio's, erm- delightful demeanor.

"Perhaps. But onto a few other things, facts I'd like to make clear." A silence engulfed the room as Haytham straightened, meeting everyone’s- even Charles'- eyes.

"Since I'm now a ‘family man,’ I'm going to be taking more time off." There was no discussion there, though there were some curious glances. “No one need cover my shift, I simply won't be here on holidays or working extreme amounts of overtime.” They nodded, the idea was fair enough; Haytham was there constantly, even when he need not be. “Furthermore, one day a week I am going to start taking off, completely. As in, do not contact me on this day or I will own your testicles and place them in a jar on my shelf.” Again, a nod and a few chuckles; it wasn’t a big deal, the man was entitled to a day off, the terms were fair enough. They partially ran the company too, it made little difference in the long run.

Besides, most of them were still wrapping their head around Haytham Kenway; mightly, wealthy man, and now- daddy dearest.

A couple of weeks later, and they all sat together, Haytham still befuddled as to how this came to be. One moment, they were eating sushi, the next moment, he received a call from Ziio.

The phone was snatched from his hand by Johnson, Haytham's glare having little affect. "Is this really Ziio?" 

A pause, and the man's face lit up, glancing back over at Haytham. "Awwwww, congratulations on the baby! It's a bit belated but I'm sure you understa-"

He almost tore Johnson's arm off to get the phone back, Haytham looking around the restaurant and glaring. Really, Johnson? He was supposed to be the smart one...

Oh no, wait, that was him. Johnson was the nice one.

Sighing, he ignored the very immature cat calls from the other men and answered. "Hey."

_"... what in the fuck?"_

"I'll explain later."

_"Do so in person, Connor works a straight shift until ten."_

"Sure, can do... does he like sushi?"

_"Connor?"_

"No, the other son."

 _"Har, har. And yeah, but he prefers pizza."_ Of course he would. _"But I love sushi. Tempura is just okay, but the eel rolls are amazing, so is anything spicy. Like, spicy tune or salmon or-"_

"Yeah I got the hint."

_"Can't wait to hear this story... who's there with you?"_

"The usual executives... it's just them who know."

_"Oh. Well, tell them I said hello. Except Charles. Tell him he's a dirty bastard and if he ever insults my son again-"_

"All ready handled, dear."

_"Right then. See you tonight."_

"Mm." he hung up with a click, everyone at the table staring at him, Pitcairn's eyes wide, and Church and Hicky in the middle of a bet.

"Told you he really bastarded a child."

"Bull shit, that was just Ziio, there's no proof. Only what Charles said and he's loopy."

"I most certainly am not!"

Frowning, Haytham ignored them for the rest of his meal, ordering extra food for Ziio before hopping into the limo, about to request to head back to the office. "Driver..."

"To the pizzeria, and then, Berkley College!"

What?! He stared at Johnson, his grin a shit eating happy one that made him question his sanity. "What in the literal fuck are you talking about?"

"I want to see your son, you said he goes to Berkley and I heard Ziio say he likes pizza... so, lets get ten pizzas and raid his school."

"No."

"I second Johnson's vote!" That was Pitcairn, glaring at Hicky. "On the off chance this kid does exist." Hicky glared back. "That condo in Miami is mine if he does, so count me in."

"This isn't a democracy, it's a monarchy! Now shut up, all of you, we're going back to the office!"

"… I want to go too." That was Church, Haytham's eye now twitching as he entered the vehicle. "College girls? Count me in."

… Ew. Nasty, bad images almost circled his mind as Charles sat next to Haytham angrily. "We're going to the office!"

"Sorry, four against two, and we have a co-founder on our side. You loose, we're going to Berkley."

There wasn't much he could do to prevent it, so Haytham sighed, before smirking. "Wait until I point out Myriam to you."

~*~

It was strange, walking through the school corridors. Berkley was a small sort of college, and the stares they received from being recognized were down right hilarious.

"I think they know who we are... or at least you and Johnson."

"That condo in Miami is mine."

"Shut your trap."

Supposedly Connor had Social Studies on the second floor at this hour... it's what the Dean had said, who blatantly ignored the ten boxes of pizza split between everyone save Haytham. Like hell he'd carry pizza around a college.

The population in the halls waned and Connor was nowhere in sight. Haytham tapped his foot if only to get thisover with when he suddenly spotted him, right around the corridor...

Oh, well then. Averting his eyes, he couldn't help but smirk, shaking his head as he approached from behind, pressing a finger to his lips so the others would remain quiet.

"So, I see you're keeping good on that proposal your mother sent me on. Fancy that then."

-=-=-=-

Connor nearly jumped out of his skin, that voice being the last one he'd expect to hear and in his haste to turn around he nearly tripped over his own feet.

It was even worse than he thought as he quickly grabbed onto the door frame to keep himself upright, panting slightly as his wide eyes settled on the group. It wasn't just his father, here, in his _school_ but he was accompanied by Greasy and four other men in fancy business suits – colleagues no doubt... and they were all staring at him.

“What's going on, Connor? Who- oooh.” Myriam's voice behind him nearly gave him a second heart attack and she peeked over his shoulder and stared at Haytham with large, interested eyes. More students joined in now, gathering around them all and forming a tight circle, all staring and pointing and whispering behind their hands. Oh god he was never going to live this down. Most, if not all, would recognize Haytham for who he was. They would all want to know why he had come here to talk with him. So far for keeping things a secret... Teachers were joining in as well now, professor Davenport limping around the corner while professor Vidic stuck his head out of his classroom to see what the commotion was, a steaming mug of coffee in his hands.

Balls.

What the hell was Haytham thinking, coming here?

Gritting his teeth Connor slipped off his bag and shoved it in Myriam's arms before he stomped forward and grabbed Haytham by his arm, yanking on it harshly. “What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing here?!” he hissed through gritted teeth as his eyes darted around like that of a deer caught by a hunter, wide open and frantic – he didn't want his entire school to know! “Have gone completely insane? Get the hell outta here!”

-=-=-=-

"Yes because shaking the billionaire isn't going to draw attention, genius."

Rolling his eyes, Haytham simply stepped back, mask in place, though his lips twitched in amusement before he whispered. "I didn't want to come here, the wanted to make sure I wasn't lying."

Stepping away, he turned to all of them gesturing vaguely. "Great, nothing to see now, can we move along?"

"Hi, I'm William Johnson, a friend of your fa- uhm, Haytham. I knew your mother as well, wonderful woman, so nice to meet you." 

Oh he wanted to gag, Johnson was shaking Connor's hand with one arm and tipping the pizzas with the next. "Hope you and your classmates like pizza, we brought ten!"

The others stared, Charles in disgust- while Hickey whooped loudly, garnering attention. "Condo in Miami is minnnne!" He had the sense to whisper, Haytham barely hearing but rolling his eyes. "It's all in the build, nose and lips. That is his kid."

"… Damn it, thanks a lot Haytham." 

His eyes twitched, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is that even my fault? And where in Benjamin?"

"… So ladies, as you know I'm pretty rich..."

Yup, Haytham shook his head, a massive migraine coming on. These were the finest people he could pick to run a company with, this bunch of lunatics. He had to literally pull Church away, much to his dismay. Disgusting, bleh.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?"

Haytham exhaled, eye twitching. "Fine, if we can leave immediately after!"

"I'm Johnson, feel free to call me William..." He leaned into whisper in Connor's ear, "Uncle William is fine too." Haytham wanted to gag, glowering as Johnson moving onward, "...and this is..."

Allow me." Sarcastically, Haytham pointed to each one of them individually. "The leecher, the cheapskate, the nice but dumb as fuck one, Charles, and yes I know you two know each other, and the other one."

"Ahem, the other one with the new condo."

"Whatever! Can we leave?! I have things to do that don't involve stalking colleges- oh bother are you kids recording this?!" Really, fucking cell phones and technology! He turned to say something to Connor before waving once at a person behind him. "Myriam, Ziio wanted me to tell you that she wants grandchildren. Get to, chop chop. Bye now." And with that he held his chin in the air in attempt to take some of his dignity with him, the other placing boxes of pizza in random students hands.

He'd strangle them all, each and everyone of them when he got into  
the limo.

-=-=-=-

“Hehehe, bye mr. Kenway!” Myriam waved at him as he left, the others following after Haytham after they had dealt out the ten pizza boxes to her classmates, and she turned to Connor who seemed to be making a serious effort to melt with the wall. “Oh come now, it's not that bad.”

“Not... that... bad?” Connor wheezed and he slumped further down the wall.

“I think it was very nice of him to come visit.”

“There was nothing nice about it! God, why did he even... I don't get why... crazy asshole...” Muttering to himself Connor got onto his feet and yanked his bag out of Myriam's arms, but before he could even take a step into the classroom the other students swarmed him.

“Dude, that was Haytham Kenway!”

“You _know_ Haytham Kenway?”

“Of course, they share the same last name! Are you related?”

“Oh man did you see? He totally looked at me! Kenway looked at me!”

“Are you family?”

“Hey Connor, you're still single right?”

“That guy is filthy rich, isn't he?”

Connor seemed ready to either have a mental breakdown, or beat everyone unconscious, whichever got them to shut up the fastest. The arrival of their teacher finally got him out of his sticky predicament, Mrs. Stillman shooing them all to their seats. He had avoided admitting to anything thus far but he wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. Even as he dragged himself into the classroom and slumped down in his seat, the whispers and stares kept going. Before long the whole school would be buzzing with the news, and this would find itself on youtube before the end of the day, no doubt.

This was going to be a very, _very_ long day indeed.

~*~

Connor was never more glad to leave campus and take the bus straight to work. Myriam traveled with him but she was smart enough to not bring up the subject and distracted him with small talk instead so that by the time they arrived at the Red Mango, Connor was mostly calm again and even sported a small but tired smile.

That was the key, she found. Bring up anything that had to do with Haytham and Connor's mood dropped like a stone in a pond. Therefore it was best to be avoided to save them both a lot of headaches. She tried to help him as best she could, because despite her ability to cheer him up, Connor remained grumpy and short with the customers. She could only hope that no one would complain and that the manager wouldn't see. In the mean time she tried to take as much work off her friend's shoulders as she could, to give him a chance to relax and let the aspirins he had taken do their job.

As much as she had been surprised by Haytham's sudden arrival at school... yeah, it wasn't nice to Connor at all.

“You'll take care of yourself, alright?” she asked him when their shift had finally ended. They were in the back, gathering their things and she reached up to straighten Connor's scarf, making sure it covered everything it needed to cover to keep as much of the cold out as possible. “Don't worry yourself too much, it's unlikely he'll ever visit college again. He didn't seem to like it. So cheer up okay?”

“Thanks Myriam....”

“See you at school tomorrow?” She wouldn't blame him if he called in sick to avoid the questions that he would no doubt be asked, but he surprised her by nodding.

“Yeah I'll be there.”

“Good, I'm glad.” She pulled him into a hug, pleased when he returned it and stroked his back with her hands before pulling back. He looked a little better now.

They parted ways at the bus stop, Connor taking the bus in one direction as she took the other. His head was still pounding, no doubt from all the stress and angry worrying he had been doing. Ugh and the day had started so good as well... leave it to fucking Kenway to ruin it. Again.

He jogged the last part from the bus stop to his house in an effort to stay warm, and dropped his keys on the doorstep as he tried to unlock the front door with numb fingers. He was _tired_. He wanted a shower and something warm to eat, have a moment to relax and get to ass to bed.  
Shrugging off his jacket he tossed it on top of his bag, gloves and scarfs following and toed off his sneakers. So glad to be home. Rubbing his hands he yawned and scratched his head. Food first, then a shower. That sounded perfect, he mused, and opened the door leading into the kitchen.

-=-=-=-

He was going to murder them all.

The moment they stepped into the limo was the end of his calm facade, the rest of the trip filled with death threats and promises of future pain to be had by all if any of them decided to ever out vote him regarding anything ever again.

Needless to say, he couldn't concentrate at work, not in the slightest. Hands shook during dissections, he snapped at everyone and anyone in his general vicinity, and made two interns cry before his day was through. Damn them all, damn everyone of them to hell! They were polite enough as he left, urging him to take the day off, especially Johnson, who ignored the death threats much to Haytham's eye-twitching irritation.

"Really Haytham, we have everything covered. Spend a day with your new found family, I'm sure they miss you."

"I all ready told you Saturday was my day off-"

"Yeah, well consider this one a special request." William appeared genuinely concerned, even going as far as to nudge him into his own car. "C'mon, I'm sure Ziio would really appreciate some time with both of the men in her life, even if they argue a little bit." 

Undignified was his scoff, though he did climb into his car, placing Ziio's meal next to him. 

"At worst, what's a little extra sleep going to do, hm? The holidays are almost here, do some Christmas shopping... the point is we have you covered."

Well, there was some truth to that, wasn't there? He hadn't given Christmas much thought, nor the gifts he'd give... perhaps that was an idea, maybe he could get something nice for Ziio, and a muzzle for Connor. "I suppose the company will not falter..." 

He calmed considerably, a hand patting his back before turning away, waving him off. "Glad to hear it! Enjoy Haytham, you certainly deserve it."

Damn Johnson... always had a way of improving his mood. He was noticeably more cheerful, driving in silence for half the way, turning on the radio to hear news of himself; pictures were all ready circulating, as was the rumors regarding his visit to Berkley. The most popular theory seemed to be him dating an attendee, namely Connor's little friend despite what he had said... something about a triangular romance between the three? "Oh bother..."

He silenced the radio immediately, parking a block away from Ziio's house, the street congested this early on in the day. He wasn't surprised to find her waiting by the window, watching her disappear to opening the door seconds later and greeting him, taking the bag from his hands, her face blank as they entered silently.

"So..." She opened a container, happy to see what she suggested, along with miso soup and a salad. "When did you start dating vanilla girls? I thought the darker the berry the sweeter the juice was your concept."

She smirked as he choked, glaring, her eyes alight with laughter. "Ziio."

"Not that she's that young, but what, nursery school students were pushing the boundaries, Haytham?" Again a blank stare, his eyes twitching erratically as arms crossed over his chest. "Woman."

"Just one more, Haytham."

As if he had a choice but to listen. "Last one?"

"For now." He sighed, slumping in a chair. There better be alcohol in her home...

"Mm?"

"So what, you change her diaper, she changes yours?"

"Oh hardy har har, I'm not that old!"

"You're not that young either."

He moved to stand but she halted him, hands on his shoulders. "I'm joking, Haytham. It's okay."

"No, it's not okay. This is going to be everywhere, in the news and trailed through papers. The last thing this is is okay."

He sat back down reluctantly, Ziio moving to her cupboard to get a glass and an unopened bottle of whiskey. She wasn't much of a drinker, Haytham neither, but he looked like he needed it. Pouring him a fair amount, she placed the bottle next to him. "It's nothing Johnson won't handle, he's quite resourceful. And tell him I said hello, he's your only friend who isn't repulsive in some way."

"Dually noted." He had to agree, even though he wanted to watch the life fade from his eyes at the moment. Fiddling with his cup he took a strong gulp, unaccustomed to the burn, but repeating the action. He needed this today, he could sleep it off in the car or get a room for the night...

"So, how did it happen?"

He told her everything, though she all ready knew the part about Charles being, well, himself; a completely racist asshole. It was a surprise Connor hadn't assaulted him, just as much as it was a surprise Haytham had. He still didn't tolerate an unkind word being said about her, no matter if indirectly. The years hadn't changed that.

And the little jolts she felt increased even more. He'd been nothing but a gentleman with her, even after everything he hadn't held a grudge. Finishing her meal, she changed were she sat, thoroughly amused at the veto of his command and snorting. "Right, because ten pizza's won't cause stir either. They don't know American college students."

"Mm, no they don't." His cup was empty after a refill or two, a nice, light feeling drifting over him. His arm instinctively wrapped around her as she leaned against him, an immediate reaction that almost made her grin.

"There are worse things I suppose." Whispering, she turned into him, resting her head against the crook of his neck. "At least the secret was still kept." That and he was here, with her. Not that she'd ever say that, but that in itself was nice.

There was a moment of silence, a brief one followed by his head tilting. "… I question whether it should be."

"Hm?" She must have misheard, looking to meet coal eyes that were all ready peering down at her, completely serious. She gulped, hard.

"Haytham..."

"Regarding you, Ziio. Need it be secret?" He took her hand, feeling a little bolder than he normally would. " I've nothing to loose, not any longer."

"I don't know if that's the best idea, Haytham. The world is still full of misconceptions. You're a powerful figurehead." Again he blinked, and added almost softly, against her hair which he nuzzled, inhaling. "Rumors will always circulate, no matter what I do. If it's not about you, it'll be about me in a pizzeria, me talking to a woman who asked me directions, so on and so forth." Shutting his eyes he froze, arm tightening it's hold. "Rumors involving you would be a welcomed change."

"Still..." She was gentler, softer this time; there was something to his voice right now, something almost... desperate. It was frightening to hear him like this, and she wondered if alcohol was the best idea, he drank quite a bit. "I wouldn't want to inadvertently damage your career or..." you, again. It went without saying, and held her closer.

"You all ready have."

"What? How do I-"

"By disregarding my attempted affections."

"When have I ever?" Besides the obvious time... but that had been with a reason, with a purpose for both of them,he wouldn't be bringing that up now, would he?

"Why do you think I sent you money every month?" She almost closed her eyes, rolling them, but there was something in his voice that made her still. "It was never enough to offend you, I know you. I respect that. But you /still/ rejected it."

"So, it was just money, Haytham."

"Exactly Ziio, it was just money. Money I sent because I couldn't be there for my you or my/son/. And now he hates me because of it."

She wanted to be angry, she wanted to lash out but...damn it. Damn it to hell, even tipsy he made perfect /sense/ how was that even plausible? He continued, almost sadly. "That was all I could do to show it."

Swallowing hard, her hand cupped his cheek, reminiscent of the first time they kissed. "Show what?" There was a tremble to her voice, and he turned away. "You know what."

No, he couldn't. Not after what she'd done. But the flush on his cheeks gave his little mask away. Haytham, the enigma, the mystery, the one constant no matter how far. "Even after everything, after all these years?" He couldn't answer, not the way she might need him to. All he could do was nod.

"How? How could you, all over again?"

There was no hesitance in his voice Haytham gazing straight into the doe brown eyes, his grip tight, tight enough to make his fingers tremble, even as his emotional mask was in place. "I never stopped in the first place."

Who abridged the gap, he couldn't say. A flurry, a blur of the erratic thumping of his heart and her lips, soft even as teeth bit into his bottom lip, mouth sucking hard against him. There was nothing gentle about clacking teeth, hands taring out braids, ribbons, buttons littering the floor as he lay her over the table.'

He'd been holding off, refusing to go any further than a few gropes and long, passionate kisses. But now, as they undressed in a flurry of strewn clothing, her hair loose about her face in long waves as hands ran through his hair and traced old scars on his back ...he gave into every touch. Every part of him caressed, touched- affection at long last because he was human and did /like/ it, especially coming from her. A part of him long thought dead rose, a phoenix from the ashes, and he kissed harder, passionately, the cold hair hitting his naked genitalia making him gasp.

He couldn't say no, not this time, and her hands guided him back to her as they fumbled with her pants for just a moment, button undone and hips lifted to remove her of her clothing, her bra and shirt next until she lay beneath him, his fingers pressing to his own lips as he licked them briefly, placing them between her legs.

A moan from her, hips moving as they kissed, lost in a moment he was only a few months prior sure he'd never share again. The first time, he was pressed flush against her, the heel of her foot digging into his lower back as she arched and tightened. He'd wear those nails marks down his back and arms with nothing but _pride._

Their second time... he lost his patience, his ability to be gentle and returned to what he knew best. Her legs spread wide as she braced herself, moaning with the creak of the table, the pace much more... punishing. Brutal. Hard. Passionate. Everything Haytham was and more.

The only thought working through her head was the same as the words on her tongue. The table lurched under his thrusts as he pulled her by the hair, biting her hard in moments of ecstasy, only pulling away to slam inside of her, hips angled just perfectly. Both close this time, so close, skin slicked and slamming together, the lewd sound only second to his name.

"Yes, Haytham, Haytham, Haytham... god, yes, Haytham!" Consumed by her voice, he continued the brutal pace, fucking her right on the kitchen table as his readied for a powerful orgasm, her body beginning to tighten around him again. "Ziio."

-=-=-=-

He should have known. Could have known.

Connor had become cautious when opening the door to the kitchen ever since Haytham had returned. The first time he had walked in and found his father sitting at the table wearing only a towel. Later on, on a day when it was supposed to be just him and his mother Haytham had once again graced the kitchen with his unwanted presence making a mess out of their lives. Needless to say, perhaps he should have seen this coming too.

They hadn't spotted him yet, both too lost in the throes of their passion and all Connor could do was stare, frozen in place with the hand on the doorknob, eyes wide open and mouth fish gaping, his mind struggling to cope with what he was seeing.

There was little he could do to stop his parents from getting back together and so he had always known that they would also get back together in the literal sense of the word – though he tried his damnedest not to think about _that_. And now here it was, happening right in front of him.

On the goddamn kitchen table no less!

The moment Haytham groaned his mother's name was the moment Connor snapped back to his senses and his mouth closed with a loud click. “What the HELL?!”

Ziio jerked, her own eyes flying open; spotting her son in the doorway trying to shield his eyes and cursing loud enough to make a priest's toes curl, she struggled upright, attempting to push Haytham away from her with one hand while trying to cover herself with the other – shit where were her clothes?

“C-connor! I didn't notice you were home!”

“Clearly!” he snapped back, his face beat red and he peeked through his fingers, only to immediately look away again when it became clear that Haytham didn't seem to be in a great hurry to pull his pants back on. His father's junk was the _last_ thing he wanted to see. “What the hell is wrong with you two?!” Sex, fine, he didn't want to think about his parents getting it on, but it happened, he could deal with that.

But not in the kitchen, where he could run into them without warning, right on the table where they ate their dinner every evening!

-=-=-=-

So close, so tight and perfect-

“What the HELL?!”

… Oh no, no, no, no! Ziio frantically moved beneath him, Haytham pulling out and away almost immediately but doing little else if only because he was _stunned._

Never in his forty plus years of existence had someone caught him in the… passionate act, let alone his own son. All attempts at sarcasm, horrid humor, condescension he couldn’t fathom a damn thing to say.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?!”

“It just… it… we’re sorry, really we didn’t mean for it to happen here.” Haytham shook his head and handed her her bra, still impossibly stark naked- though completely flaccid. Having your son walk in on you at almost the peak height of pleasure did that to a man. He already ached because of it.

His main concern was covering her, Connor turning away for that much as Haytham retrieved her pants, sans underwear because he couldn’t _find_ them. His flush was ear to ear before he pulled his pants on, frantically searching for his hair tie. Ziio handed it to him wordlessly, Haytham’s eye twitching. No matter how subtle his reaction, Ziio could tell he embarrassed, panicked. And rightfully so.

“Connor, really we apologize. I swear this wasn’t planned or intentional or…” Brown eyes pleaded with Haytham, and he spoke only because of that, the flush evident on his face even though his words reflected nothing.

“It was an… unfortunate accident and wasn’t exactly what it… looked… like?” Honestly, he had no idea what to say here! He was sure Connor felt it was intentional, but in that sense it wasn’t what it looked like, not at all! “Just got caught in a… moment and-“

He didn’t get to finish his pathetic statement, a hard, strong fist collided with his nose almost immediately, Haytham too stunned to even react, let alone defend himself as he took a staggering step backward, unable to breathe through his nose, the crack signifying what he knew to be a break. A severe break at that. Ziio hopped off the table quickly, going to grab her son. 

“Connor, stop!”

-=-=-=-

Connor slowly dropped his hand as they were making excuse, stumbling about to get themselves dressed and somewhat presentable again, though they remained flushed and sweaty, their hair all tousled from the wild act.

Under normal circumstances, he would have found this amusing, to hear his stoic father who always had a snarky reply ready, sputter and stumble, trying to figure out the right words to say and sadly failing. This however, was far from normal and he felt his right hand slowly clench into a fist.

He reacted before he even knew what he was doing, before he could realize and tell himself that this wouldn't make things better, but he had already turned around on his heel and had taken the half a dozen steps he needed to reach his father. With his face set into a furious grimace Connor pulled his fist back and swung it forward, slamming his knuckles into Haytham's face as hard as he could.

He had a lot of strength behind him, gathered from years of freerunning through the forest and city and practicing with his Winchester Tracker compound bow which he had saved up for months to buy; as such he more felt than heard Haytham's nose break under the force of the blow, watching him stagger back and flailing to keep his balance as blood poured down over his lips.

Ziio latched onto his arm almost immediately, preventing him from going after his father for a second swing - not that he didn't try but he registered the weight of his mother pulling him back and, not wanting to hurt her, relented just a little bit.

“Caught in the moment? I never figured you for the kind of guy to think with his dick instead of his brains!” he yelled and took a step forward again, Ziio's grip on his sleeve tightening. “You never once heard of the phrase 'taking it to the bedroom'? Have you lost your mind, doing it on the fucking kitchen table where we eat every day? How many times have you done this here?!” First him showing up at school, humiliating him like that, and now this!

What was he trying to do, ruin his life? “Get up! Fucking hell, get up! I'll gladly beat some sense into you, you son of a bitch!”

-=-=-=-

Head back, his fingers glided over his nose, feeling the break and he exhaled, long and steadily before applying significant amounts of pressure until it popped. The fresh gush of blood covered his lips, but at least he could breath, albeit painfully.

“Connor, stop! It wasn’t just his decision; it’s not only his fault so stop it!” Haytham paid no mind to the insults, though he did raise an eyebrow. Thinking with his dick, oh Connor, if only you knew the truth about that too…

He slowly grew aware of just how much it actually hurt, and it wasn’t the punch to the face that provided the most pain. He let Ziio stand between them as he turned to the sink, washing the blood off his face without comment, finally beginning to grow irritated.

“I’ll buy you a new table then; I already apologized, as did your mother.” And why was blame solely placed on his shoulders, as always? Oh right, his mother could do no wrong. Had he been less inclined to let Ziio live as guilt free as possible, he may have brought up a few truths about their relationship. But no, she didn’t deserve that, even if he was growing tired of being blamed for everything.

“I’ll answer this only because I am genuinely sorry this happened; this was the first time, there will not be a second, not here anyway.” If anything, it was the perfect reason to go to his penthouse, she might like spending a night overlooking Central Park and the skyline.

“As for beating sense into me, I wouldn’t recommend you try it.” Granted, Connor was probably sprier, perhaps stronger, but he wasn’t exactly a push over or weak in any sense of the word. Though that was hardly the reason he gave, face locking with a well hidden but distraught Ziio. “You’re upsetting your mother. Stop.” It was nicer than saying ‘I could probably hurt you as well, you little twit,’ no matter how true.

-=-=-=-

… Grumbling Connor slowly dropped his fist. He was still angry, furious, but he knew when to stop. This was never going to work out, him bonding with his father. As much as Ziio wanted it to happen, want them to get along, it was unlikely they ever would. 

They had started off completely wrong and Haytham had proven time and time again that he wasn't interested in pursuing a father-son relationship with him. Connor didn't want it. Haytham didn't want it. So why bother anymore?  
Like these bi-weekly lunches on Tuesday... so far there had only been two and while he hadn't stormed the last time he had been on the verge of doing so after his father had once again pushed him to the brink of his patience with his never-ending bossy, snobby holier-than-though behavior. 

“Keep it to the bedroom next time.” he growled and moved to the fridge, grabbing only a can of mountain dew and leaving the plastic-wrapped dinner Ziio had put for him in the fridge to heat up after he came home from work – what he had witnessed here just now had completely ruined his appetite.

He managed to refrain from slamming the doors on his way out, making a bee-line straight towards his bedroom. There he flopped onto his bed with a deep sigh and pressed his face into his pillow, head pounding. He wished Haytham had never come to New York. Hell, he wished he had never gone and tried to find him... he wished he hadn't succeeded in doing so.   
Reaching down Connor felt around in his pocket and pulled out his cellphone, turning onto his back as he browsed for Myriam's number. She always managed to cheer him up again, maybe she could do so again...

-=-=-=-  
~*~  
-=-=-=-

Christmas was so tedious. Haytham should have had everything catered, it would have been so much simpler that way. Then again, when did he ever do something simply because it was easy?

It wasn’t that he was bad at cooking, far from it- living alone for twenty plus years made someone learn the way about the kitchen. It was simply more convenient to order out with constant meetings and two-in-the-morning ideas; that and making meals for just him grew boring, no matter how lovely his cooking was.

Well, at least it all smelled nice; his oven was packed with a turkey, ham, three type of stuffing because he was bored that morning, the potatoes were done but still on the stove and the cranberry sauce was cooling in the fridge.

And his kitchen was an utter _disaster_. 

Immediately cleaning as his eyebrow twitched, he was almost surprised Ziio had agreed to bring Connor and Myriam over for Christmas dinner. A few nights after the incident with Connor, he did bring Ziio to his home for the evening and they completed what had been unfinished, falling asleep sprawled out together for the first time in so many years. Waking to her against his chest was a most welcomed surprise, no matter how subtle his smile may have been.

Ziio had mentioned Christmas then, almost offhandedly inquiring as to what Haytham would be doing this year, if he’d be working. Much to her mute pleasure (and the growing dissatisfaction of a certain Charles Lee) he had promised to not only take Christmas off, but had offered to prepare a meal for her, seeing as how she always cooked for him.

It was hard to regret the decision with her body moving against his rhythmically for the mere _offer._ Though he supposed it was a huge step, inviting everyone.

Even Connor.

They’d hardly spoken the past few weeks, even during their required lunch together. Haytham hardly minded, keeping to his work and eating Ziio’s homemade meals in a content silence. Connor could hate him all he wanted, he wasn’t doing this for him anyway.

A sound at the door, and Haytham was satisfied with his cleanup, removing his gloves and washing his hands before answering, thankful Ziio’s face was the first he made contact with. “Welcome Ziio.” A small smile graced him, almost waning as his eyes met the unimpressed look of his son. “Connor. And Myriam, right?” He turned to let them in, tight black turtleneck clinging to him in ways that made Ziio’s eyes trail down his back, a tight pair of taupe pants clinging to a certain region of his backside. Ziio felt a nudge from Myriam and chuckled. Right, enter the house first Ziio. Then ogle your boyfriend.

-=-=-=-

He felt so out of place here.

He had donned his best looking clothes for this, everything neat and tidy, his hair slicked back, not a thing out of line. Ziio had urged him again and again and again to please please please put on his best behavior tonight and he had promised. It was Christmas, if it was going to be ruined tonight, it wouldn't be by his hand.

At least Haytham hadn't minded him bringing Myriam along. She often spent Christmas with them anyway, what with her family living out of state; she was walking next to him and it was just... odd seeing her in a dress. He had never seen her in a dress before and honestly... she looked stunning. While the dress itself wasn't anything special – she had borrowed it from a friend – it accentuated all her curves, clinging to her body in all the right places while leaving other parts to the imaginary. Even her hair; she always held it in a simply ponytail or a braid, but it looked as if someone had taken a curling iron to it and had turned it into a piece of art.

Kay, that was sappy, but the way her curls bounced right above his shoulders with every step, catching the light... well, he had a hard time not staring.

They were greeted by Haytham who, for once, wasn't wearing a suit but something a little more casual. It made him look more human, Connor mused as he greeted his father with a simple nod before stepping inside. This would be the first time for Myriam to actually spent time with the man, as all their previous encounters didn't really count. He could only hope that things would go well for once.

“Here, let me.” He took her coat and put it on a coat hanger for her, receiving a smile and a whispered thank-you in return before they all entered the grand living room, the smells from the kitchen wafting towards them. Huh... he hadn't thought his father to be the cooking type. He was there, checking up on the turkey, his back turned to them and next to him Myriam took a deep whiff before looking at Haytham with an appreciative look in her eyes. “Hmmm, delicious. The food smells great as well, by the way.”

Connor couldn't help but chuckle. Myriam's silly man crush on Haytham, as disturbing as it was in some ways, was amusing, no way around it.  
And fortunately, Ziio knew her well enough to know that everything she said wasn't meant to be taken that seriously, and so she laughed as well as Myriam leaned closer and spoke, not bothering to keep her voice down: “Screw Christmas dinner, I'll take a bite out of that right there.”

Rolling his eyes Connor turned and walked around the table, taking in his surroundings. The whole place just screamed 'filthy rich guy living here' and he whistled as he looked out of the window, showing a spectacular view of the Atlantic. He didn't mind admitting this: this place was damn nice.

-=-=-=-

All right, everything in place as it should be. He bent to check the turkey, watching the thermometer and re moistening meat with the baster, he blinked before clearing his throat, smirking. Only the faintest of pink dusted his cheeks as he shut the oven. He was blusher, couldn’t be helped no matter how in place his mask was… and he was quite fond of honesty, especially honesty of the ego-inflating variety.

“Now, now ladies, behave. Lest we all become unnecessarily hot and need a dip in the pool. 

“It’s heated.” Ziio sat by him as he checked the cranberry sauce, comfortably seated by the breakfast nook. Myriam frowned fakely and added an overexagerrated; “Darn, and I don’t have my bathing suit.”

Haytham smirked, sending a wink Ziio’s way. “Me neither.”

“You’re going to get it after this, I’m warning you.” Playful was Ziio’s tone, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. 

“One can only hope for as much.” It was foreign, to genuinely smile at the dual laughs from behind him, his eyes resting on Connor’s back, watching him take in the ocean. Funny, that was the same spot he always stood in, contemplating issues with the company or simply lost in thought.

Strange were the oddities they shared  
.  
“I’m uncertain if you’re of drinking age, but you’ll probably want to try this… something called mulled wine. I have enough room for you to stay the night otherwise.” It would be rude if he didn’t offer some to his son…

“Connor, care for a try?” He’d be on his best behavior tonight, he’d promised.

-=-=-=-

Myriam accepted her glass without hesitation. “Not of drinking age but that has never stopped me before. Thank you, Mr. Kenway.” She rose the glass to her lips and sipped from the mulled wine, humming appreciatively and nodded. The good stuff.

Connor was a lot more reluctant to accept though, not because it was his father offering, but because his twenty-first birthday was still four months away and unlike Myriam, he had never made it a habit to drink before it was legal for him to do so. Not that he had never touched alcohol before, but it had only happened a handful of times and his mother didn't know about it.  
So he looked at Ziio, a questioning look in his eyes until she nodded and mouthed 'just this once' with a smile, before he reached out and accepted the glass from Haytham. “Thanks.” He sniffed it, cautiously and his face scrunched up into a grimace after he took a sip – ugh, definitely a taste to be acquired, but it wasn't bad per say.

“You need more practice.” Myriam quipped, and Connor rolled his eyes as she swirled the wine around in her glass.

“I doubt I'll ever be a fan of alcohol.” he muttered with a shrug and tried another sip as Myriam chuckled and clapped him on the back.

“Not even champagne?”

“Ugh, no.”

“Then I'll be sure to get you a bottle of non alcoholic Disney champagne for New Years Eve.”

“Har har, very funny Myriam.” He smirked though, seeing the humor in it. The words came from Myriam, he could handle her teasing. They did it all the time.

“You're welcome sweety, as always.” Tipping her head back she downed the glass, aware of Connor's eyes on the smooth column of her throat and ignoring it, setting the empty glass down on the table. “So, Mr. Kenway, is there anything I can do to help out, with dinner preparations perhaps? I'd hate for you to do all the work alone.”

-=-=-=-

He watched his son take a gulp, his lips twitching upwards for a change. Like his mother, he wasn’t one for the refined. It was hardly a negative thing, particularly as he watched Ziio do the same, though she seemed to thoroughly enjoy her serving.

He filled up another glass for Myriam, shrugging as Ziio raised an eyebrow. 

“Last one.” It was only a little wine, anyhow, virtually slightly spiked juice with everything he put in it. Besides, watching his son watch Myriam was quite amusing. He vaguely wondered if he was that obvious watching Ziio, the smooth skin of her face, the way her lips moved as she spoke in soft tones, like now.

Oh… she had spoken.

“Pardon?” She looked amused, setting her glass down. “Did you need help with anything? Myriam asked first though, she gets dibs.”

Oh, hm. No, no everything was settled… except…

“I suppose I could use a bit of feminine touch wrapping presents…” He wouldn’t have to show them to Ziio or Connor that way, that would certainly be helpful. 

“Haytham, that wasn’t necessary.”

“Oh bother, it’s just one thing for you and Connor to share, and it’s a necessity so none of that.” He pointed to her pseudo frown, unable to resist pecking her lips chastely, just enough to get her lips to stop twitching downward. “Do I need to go over proper gift accepting etiquette with you again, woman? Step one, say thank you. Step two, accept gift. Step three, like the gift.”

“Step four; temporarily forget the fact that you’re a condescending douche bag.”

“If you can temporarily forget such an evident fact.” Dual lips twitched, and he leaned in again, kiss only a little deeper this time, hand cupping his face-  
“Tonsil hockey for all!” He almost sputtered, backing away from Ziio slightly. Right, company. 

“Aw not fair, I was getting dinner and a show.”

And yet again he found himself chuckling at Myriam's choice of words, almost surprised that he would do so. “You’re quite cheeky, aren’t you?” It was said kindly, and he offered Myriam his hand. “To my room, for present wrapping. Ziio, you can give Connor a tour if you like, or help yourselves to anything you desire.”

“What I desire is _leaving._ ”

“Only for the moment. My, aren’t we all in good humor today?” Goodness, is this how two women were? How playful! Connor was nothing like this. A shame, he couldn’t help but like Myriam quite a bit so far- perhaps it would have been different had he created a daughter.

He’d wonder some other time. He had no idea how to wrap a set of car keys.

-=-=-=-

Connor shook his head and rolled his eyes at the ceiling, watching how Myriam practically skipped after Haytham in excitement, her hand in his as he flashed them a smirk over her shoulder.

“Someone has a crush.”

“It's far worse than a crush, believe me.” Connor picked up a frame photo and held it at arms distance, scrunching at the picture of a younger Haytham surrounded by a group of men. He assumed it were the same men that had visited his school as he recognized Lee to be among them, looking less greasy but no less gross. There was just something... creepy about the guy, even in this picture. “Trust me mom, if it wasn't for you she would have flung herself at him already.”

“Hm, and what about you?”

Connor blinked at her and nearly dropped the framed photo. What about him?

“You and Myriam.” Ziio continued as she sat down on the leather couch and folded her hands under her chin. “Any chance of you two getting back together...? I know you have tried but...”

Connor didn't answer and carefully set the photo back down. Sometimes, he wished things had worked out between him and Myriam. A solid relationship with someone you truly liked and trusted, who didn't want that? But it hadn't worked out, it didn't feel right. Casual sex was one thing, and so was staying best friends but combining it all? Adding in love? No... not happening. “I don't know.”

“Ah.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them and Connor turned to look out of the window again, taking in the spectacular view before he glanced at the door Myriam and Haytham had disappeared through. Their return would be welcomed, if only to break this awkward silence.

~*~

“No no, big ribbon bows. Like this! The bigger the better!” Really, what was so difficult about packing a set of car keys? Put them in a pretty box, wrap the pretty box in a pretty paper and finish it off with a pretty ribbon. She sighed. Men...  
“I used to work in a gift store, I wrapped a ton of these every day. Here.” She handed Haytham the small package, a perfectly neat ribbon bow on top.  
A new car... it was a really nice gift, she couldn't think of two people who deserved it more than Ziio and Connor. The car they had was ready to fall apart.

“He'll come around, you know.” she said softly, her eyes on the small package. “I'm sorry, it's not really my place to say, but Connor's a good person. He just has... trusting issues. And a temper. He needs time.”

-=-=-=-

Ah, grand and ornate, a gigantic looping bow over the small box provided. He honestly had no concept of where to begin; he’d never been one for art or designing. Anything nonfunctional and purely spectacle was saved for the fairer sex. They seemed to know about those sorts of things anyway.

He was content, with her, just listening to her explain where she used to work, silly idle chatter. Goodness why was this so much easier? Already he knew her favorite color, where she worked, where her parents lived and her favorite food. It took ten seconds to aptly learn more about her than Connor.

Her soft voice hit him, lips twitching in a frown. “Mm. Doubtful. He isn’t into reasons, just into blame.” He paused, examining the package. “It’s lovely, thank you.” He meant it, she made it look terrific. 

“Aw, you’re welcome.” But just as she was going to head to the door he whispered, lowly. Haytham didn’t even know why he said it.

“If he knew what truly happened, he wouldn’t hate me.” He kept his eyes on the glistening paper, not daring meet hers. She was so easy to talk to, so polite. Perhaps he was just more affluent with women, whether friendly or otherwise. But she was Connor’s friend, she may divulge sensitive information. Information that may in fact put Ziio in a predicament, given the circumstances.

He couldn’t allow that, also for the sake of his son. “Damned if I tell him, damned if I remain silent. I doubt he’d believe me anyway. He prefers hatred, at least with me. I don’t blame him, not entirely. It is an issue of maturity, surely but…” He shook his head, glancing over briefly and offering an almost embarrassed smile. “It’s not your concern though. Apologies, it’s hardly the time for such talk.”

-=-=-=-

Frowning Myriam stopped with her hand on the doorknob and glanced back at Haytham. Wow... was he really indulging personal information with her? He barely knew her. Her hand slowly withdrew from the door and she turned fully, a small frown on her face as she listened.

It... made sense. She knew Connor knew little about how his parents had gotten together for the first time and what had led up to them splitting again. Perhaps if he knew more, understood better, he'd be less inclined be show so much hate... but it wasn't her place to say. There was little she could do about it, as much as she wanted to help them both. Connor was her best friend and she liked Haytham, he seemed like a nice guy despite the fact that he had given her a bad first impression at the Red Mango. They deserved a good, healthy relationship, didn't they?  
If there was anything she could do to make that happen, she would... but she wouldn't spill information she wasn't supposed to share with others.

“He behaves that way because he doesn't know how to deal with you.” she said and folded her hands behind her back again, toeing the plush carpet with her foot. “He doesn't know you well enough to show anything but hatred and anger, so he lashes out whenever he can. That's how he deals with situations that are difficult. I'm not saying that it's right, but good luck trying to change that. I'm sure that once he gets to know you better, things will cool down but it has to come from both sides.” Her eyes flicked up and she fixed Haytham with a firm stare after she said that. She knew that Haytham liked to bait Connor and that wasn't helping the situation, but at the same time Connor wasn't giving him any chance to improve on things. They were both at fault and if they wanted this to work, they both had to actually put forth some serious effort.

She kept her stare up for a few more seconds before he face suddenly split into a big smile again and she stepped forward boldly, wrapping her arms around Haytham's shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug. If this surprised or bothered him, she didn't seem to care and she let go quickly enough anyway, though her hands lingered on his shoulders as she smiled up at him. “A hug always makes Connor feel better! I figured it was worth a try.” Plus she got to hug Haytham, yay! Despite being in his forties, he was all hard, solid muscle under there. Rawr, sexy!

Too bad he was already taken. And... ya know, the father of her best friend. Clearing her throat she stepped away, removing her hands from his shoulders and gestured towards the door. “Shall we then? If we take any longer they might get suspicious, this being your bedroom and everything. Not that it isn't _nice_ but you know.”

-=-=-=-

Fingering the wrapping paper, he fought a frown. Well yes he baited him, only because he was a little twit, but he wouldn’t say that aloud. Honestly, what was he to do? Say ‘thank you for coming into my corporate office and almost getting thrown out, son. Oh, don’t be upset that you broke my nose when I didn’t realize you were coming home and you caught me in the act with your mother. No Connor, it isn’t polite to fling chest nuts at your father's head, but I understand the misconception. Also, you have wonderful aim.’

Yeah… no. No it was ninety five percent Connor's fault, with maybe a tiny bit maybe being Haythams own anger. But that was only because Connor’s attitude made him that way! Still, the encouragement was nice.

He hadn’t expected the hug though, and tensed briefly, relaxing just a little before she let go. Hugs cheer Connor up? They… made him uncomfortable, but she meant well, he could see that quite clearly.

“Indeed we shall.” He offered his arm this time, bowing when she mock curtsied, other hand firmly wrapped around the package, and wandering over to Ziio who raised an eyebrow. “I thought we’d need to send a search party.”

“Never. I’m simply refraining from being a jack ass.” Ziio scoffed, Haytham untangling his arm politely. 

“I’ll believe it when I see–“

He bent over again, this time to check the stuffing. Ziio couldn’t help but lean back, just to follow the curve of his delectable looking…

“… So, when do I get to see the contents of the package.” She paused, grinning as he dawned over mitts, removing a tray. “Also, what present did you get me?”

That made him falter, almost dropping the turkey as he glared, the faintest of flushes gracing his cheeks. “Perhaps later.” What was it about these pants, anyway? His flush deepened further as he caught Myriam’s eyes on him, feeling more edible than the damned turkey.

While flattering, it unnerved him.

“Ziio, silverware. Connor, plates. Myriam, glasses. I can carry the rest.” There was blink, Haytham watching the confusion come over Connor’s face as Ziio nonchalantly grabbed silverware. What, what had he done _now?_

-=-=-=-

For a moment it looked like Connor would go against it. He was so sick of his father bossing him around, treating him like he was one of his lowly employees or even an intern, someone he could scold at and commandeer around. Was it really that difficult for him to ask _nicely_ for a change?

Ziio grabbed silverware without even a blink, and Myriam opened a cabinet to take out four clean glasses before fixing him with a glare. Right... Christmas, and he had promised to behave. He even refrained from rolling his eyes at his father as he too turned to the cabinet and grabbed four plates, following Myriam and his mother to the dining table to set everything up. He was quite hungry by now and he didn't mind admitting that... well... it all smelled very good indeed. He pulled a chair back for Myriam, gesturing her to sit down which earned him a pleased smile and a wink before taking a seat next to her. His parents took the opposite side of the table, with Haytham sitting right across of him.

“It looks delicious, Mr. Kenway!” Hm, yes, he'd agree with Myriam on that one. But just because it smelled and looked good didn't mean the taste was anything to write home about. By the looks of things it was likely it tasted just as amazing, but Connor wouldn't be Connor unless he tried to find flaws in everything his father did. 

Haytham did the same to him anyway.

Meanwhile Myriam had sparked up a conversation with Ziio as Haytham readied everything and once again did not bother to keep her voice down. “He's really quite a catch! It's hard to find a man who does not only look good but knows his way around the kitchen as well.” She batted her eyelashes at him before giving Ziio a wink. “He's a total DILF.”

As soon as the word left her mouth, Connor made an odd, garbled sound in the back of his throat next to her, nearly choking on his own saliva; raising his hand he coughed into his fist and turned his eyes on Myriam, who met his surprised stare with an even look and a shrug. “What? He is!” 

-=-=-=-

He would never understood the lad, though he fought back the scoff. Both women had no problem following what he requested, there was no need for the attitude. He'd follow up on it with a 'do what I say' and a scoff, but no. It wasn't worth the effort.

Carving the turkey, he couldn't fight the grin off his face. Ah, seemed Myriam quite liked him, her compliments were nice... but...

He blinked, tilting his head. Connor choked, glaring imaginary daggers at the girl who nonchalantly shrugged. More importantly, Ziio eyed him, tilting her own head with a very obvious repressed grin.

"A... dilf? I'm... sorry, is that slang for something? I'm unfamiliar with American slang." Such an odd word, what could it mean?

He frowned as both women giggled, furrowing his brow in a manner that was undeniably child like, practically pouting. "Haytham, you remember that movie we saw? American Pie and the sequels two Saturdays ago? Remember Stifler's mom, what she was called?"

"… The acronym, milf. Yes I quite recall. But how does that..." Oh. 

OH.

His gaze briefly flickered to Myriam, to Ziio's encouragement, and then to his now fidgeting hands, the deepest crimson flitting over his features.

"Haytham, what do you say when you get a compliment?" Oh her teasing voice, he glared but only managed to blush further, thin fingers pinching his cheek.

"… I don't like flattery."

"Well, good thing it's a truth then." Damn her and her sing-song voice! What, he promised to behave so she could pick on _him?_

It burned, his entire face burned. Grey eyes averted to stare at the floor, muttering. "… let's change the topic?" To anything else but _him?!_

-=-=-=-

Myriam's smile was positively devious, her eyes twinkling in delight. Oh goodies, she got Haytham Kenway to blush! Now that was something to brag about! And it wasn't just a blush, this was an over-the-top, red-as-a-tomato oh-god-I'm-so-embarrassed kind of blush. Those were the best.

“I only speak the truth.” she purred and picked up her napkin, unfolding it and draping it over her lap. Next to her, Connor sat with his face buried into his hands, clearly embarrassed in his own way by her behavior but from where she sat she could see the grin on him. Clearly getting his father all uncomfortable did wonders for Connor's mood.  
“Yes, lets please change the topic.” he muttered, his voice muffled his palms. Anything was better than a topic that mixed his father with sex, he'd seen enough of that to last time a life time, thank you.

“You're no fun, Connor.” Myriam pouted and she nudged his shoulders, causing him to drop his hands. He glanced at Haytham quickly, eying the clear redness on his face and the corners of his mouth twitched before he turned to Myriam again. 

“As much as I don't mind you getting him uncomfortable, it is not something I want to be a witness to.”

“You were smirking though, I saw it!”

Damn. “Yeah okay, you caught me. I did. But... ugh, can we talk about something, I dunno... Christmas-y instead and not about how eager you are to get into his pants?” Anything, any topic but that.

“Hmmm...” Eyes rolling up towards the ceiling Myriam tapped her lips with her index finger and hummed softly, brows scrunching together in thought. It was a look Connor recognized... no doubt she was trying to think of a way to include the topic of Haytham and what he was hiding in his pants into a conversation about Christmas, just so she could keep on teasing him and making him blush.

“Forget I asked...”

-=-=-=-

Oh for heaven’s sakes! “You realize blushing doesn’t impede my ability to hear, right?” Just wonderful, let him blush himself into a coma for the amusement of others. Ziio wasn’t making it better, playful smile intact.

“It’s the flush on your cheeks, the dimples...” And so loud, so loud was the slap to his ass that he let out an undignified gasp, wide eyed and horrified. “Then there’s your face.”

That was it. Removing himself from the table, he made for his bedroom, Ziio frowning. “Haytham...”

“I’m getting changed.”

“We’re only kidding! You’re...” she fought the original term, choosing another. “... endearing when you blush.” He didn’t close the door, but the ruffle of clothing could be heard. Even he could admit this was somewhat drastic, but he felt entirely nude, like some piece of meat on display. He’d never understand, women hated it being done to them, but objectifying him was alright? 

Grey eyes narrowed, head peering out from the door frame of his own room. “Endearing? For heaven sakes, woman, I’m nothing of the sort.” Some more ruffling and Ziio rolled her eyes, shrugging at Myriam. “I found it amusing.”

“Well that says a lot about you doesn’t it?”

She turned, intent on retorting, something about his immaturity when she blinked. And opened her mouth, shutting it softly, just looking at him.

Red. Matching the ribbon in his hair, a long, red over coat that was obviously tailored, diving in at the waist and following the curve of his hip. Cream colored buttons lined either side, the black turtle neck still visible over the shallow collar of the coat. 

She said nothing, their eyes meeting, and he simply tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, most of the flush gone. He said nothing, though his eyes didn’t leave her face as he began to serve dinner, Myriam’s eyes on his as well, and he sighed half way through. 

“... what is it now?”

“Haytham, get changed.” He simply blinked, Ziio moving to serve food for him, his expression completely mystified. What, he hadn’t acted so horribly, had he?

“I... did I do something?” 

She couldn’t even look at him, her eyes meeting Myriam’s and they shared a look. “Haytham, you’re wearing a red leather coat with belted buckles.” Indeed, one around his waist, two around his wrists.

“I do not follow.”

Again she looked at Myriam, and Haytham was so lost and confused it hurt, having no choice but to look at his son. “Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?" He hadn't a clue anymore, women were very, very complicated. He sighed, though reluctantly removed his jacket, unsure why he was even doing so. He was beginning to prefer the arguments with his son over whatever this was.

-=-=-=-

Connor blinked slowly as Haytham abruptly stood up and left the table. Okaaaay? Well, it wasn't his fault for once!  
He returned shortly, wearing a - was that leather? It was!

Who in their right mind wore a bright red leather jacket made out of leather? Must be a rich-guy thing...

Connor kept himself out of the conversation that followed, not really understanding what Myriam and Ziio were going on about and not really wanting to know either. It didn't involve him, it wasn't his problem, let Haytham deal with the consequences of his fashion failure- “Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?"

He looked up, his eyes meeting Haytham's as if to make sure that yes, his father had actually asked him an honest question. Whoa. “Er... no, I don't.” He muttered as he probed his turkey with his fork and glanced at Myriam, who was still eying the leather jacket. “You'll never hear me say I'll ever understand women. They're like aliens.” From Venus. Women came from Venus, right? Haytham definitely came from Mars, no doubt about it.

He stuck a piece of turkey in his mouth and chewed carefully, eyebrows raising just a bit as the rich flavors nearly overwhelmed his taste buds – holy shit! If it weren't for the Corporation his father could have earned a fortune as a cook in a five-star restaurant, this was good stuff!

Myriam was still staring and this whole situation was getting way too weird, even to him; Myriam snapped to and tore her eyes away from the leather jacket draped over the back of Haytham's chair as Connor harshly nudged her foot under the table, and blinked. “Get it together!” he hissed at her and she blushed, clearing his throat. 

“I... I apologize, Mr. Kenway. That was too much, I went too far. I'm sorry.”

-=-=-=-

Aliens... oh yes. Good, it wasn't only him. He couldn't fathom the inner workings of their minds, let alone what he'd done to cause such a reaction, from both of them.

He sat uneasily, allowing Ziio to finish serving simply because he was lost in thought, so lost he almost didn't hear the apology. "Hm? Oh, no need for that." He waved his hand almost dismissively, mask back in place, even with the traces of embarrassment left on his cheeks. "Merely meant as a joke, I'm simply... unaccustomed to the behavior." Truth be told those he knew wouldn't dare pick on him, not even at Connor's school had they dared to push his buttons too much. He was feared, revered, powerful.

But not in front of Ziio, in front of his family. He almost jumped at the thought. It had been some time since he had that... a family. Families didn't fear one another.

Unless of course you were his mother. He shoved that thought aside with his appetite.

Checking his watch he winced, excusing himself much to everyone's confusion. "Apologies, I had timed dinner to be concluded at this point." He hesitated, unsure of how to state this without giving the present away. "… I need to pick up the gift, it's downtown."

"How are you getting there?" 

He shrugged, nonchalant as always. "Never mind that, it's of no importance Ziio. I'll be back shortly."

"… The busses and subways closed at seven, Haytham."

He blinked, lips twitching into a frown. "Why?"

"Blizzard warning in affect for the area." 

Damn it, he hadn't thought of that! It was hardly snowing, though he understood the precaution but... his present.

"That... complicates things." Shit, he needed someone to drive it back, and it's not like he could ask Myriam if she had a license, that would destroy the surprise! So much for the custom paint being a nice touch.

He didn't want Ziio to find out... which left one option.

"Connor, I need you to come with me, to pick up your mothers gift."

-=-=-=-

“Excuse me?” Looking up from his plate, a piece of broccoli half on its way to his mouth, Connor fixed his father with a flat stare. Go with him? Ugh, why? He didn't want to go out into the cold, least of all with _him!_

Ah, but it was for his mother... Oh Christ, he didn't want to go. He wanted to finish his surprisingly good dinner. Couldn't it wait?

“You should go.” Myriam whispered and he glared at her – whose side was she on anyway? - but it made no difference; the grin on her face remained. “I know what it is. Trust me... go with him. It's gonna be awesome.”

Huh... really? The glance he gave his father was wary to say the least, but eventually Connor nodded reluctantly, biting back a sigh, and pushed his chair back. “Alright then...” For mom. Not to make things easier for Haytham, he'd do it for mom.

Feeling his pocket for his cellphone he went to grab his jacket, wrapping the scarf around his neck before pulling it on and zipping it all the way up. “This had better be good. Where are we going?”

“Don't worry about us!” Myriam called after them, having claimed Haytham's seat next to Ziio. “We can keep ourselves entertained.” Connor grimaced; that meant girl talk. Girl talk was terrifying. Glancing at his father he quickly nodded towards the door, suddenly eager to get out. “They're going to talk about you again, so...” Another nod at the door. That was something he was sure they both didn't want to hear.

-=-=-=-

Oh bother, he hardly doubted that. "All the more reason to leave quickly." And he did leave quickly, let the women chat about... whatever women chatted about. Based on the interesting things Myriam had already called him, he'd no doubt they'd already had such conversation prior.

The thought made him shiver in trepidation. He hardly minded having a place on Ziio's mind, but Myriam was another story entirely.

He walked briskly as always, militaristic and on point to the garage, unlocking the door to his Rolls Royce. Of course, it was blue, a deep navy blue with black accents, and he sat in the drivers side, cautiously looking towards Connor.

"I cannot stress this enough, be careful." Though his voice was softer than usual, and he added quickly. "Lest you scratch her, the paint is new and the interior is custom made."

He ignored the glare, taking a few back streets, noting Connor shivering and quietly pressing the button on his steering wheel, the heated seat coming to life. Couldn't risk him snotting all over the new steering wheel if he caught a cold.

He pulled up quickly, with only five minutes to spare and held his hand up. "Wait here."

Within two minutes he returned, watching Connor's expression change from frigid and cold to something more unreadable, Haytham stepping from the brand new Mustang. It wasn't too expensive, Ziio wouldn't have liked it otherwise, but simple and exquisite, a two door, five seater with custom dark brown leather interior and a mural painted on it: the symbol of her tribe on the hood.

Connor had yet to say anything. Haytham tossed him the spare set of keys, calmly, devoid of emotion.

"I'll be following you back. Remember, careful."

He didn't bother to give an excuse as to why, and patted his back once. "Happy Christmas..."

-=-=-=-

Yup! Connor quickly followed after his father, the closing door drowning out the giggles coming from Myriam. Taking the elevator down Haytham led the way to the garage, walking straight towards a navy-blue Rolls Royce – not really surprising, that was a car for rich people but he had never seen one up close before.  
He almost didn't dare to touch it, in case he did something wrong and be rewarded with Haytham yelling at him or something.

Exhaling slowly through his teeth he reached out and opened the front passenger door, carefully sliding into his seat and very much aware of any potential dirt under his sneakers.

The drive was short and Connor remained silent, pressed against the window as the scenery flashed by , using his hoodie to shield his eyes from the head lights of the cars speeding past them. He noticed the temperature in the car rising steadily but he didn't comment on it, preferring to not say anything at all. 

The moment they pulled into a garage his eyebrows lowered into a frown and he sat up straight, watching with confusion in his eyes as Haytham got out and told him to stay put. What... were they doing here? Weren't they supposed to pick up mom's gift? He watched his father walk inside and grumbling he flopped back into the seat, arms crossing over his chest. Whatever...

He ignored the other cars passing by, instead keeping himself occupied by fiddling with the sun visor until he noticed that one car had come to a halt right next to the Rolls Royce. Frowning he glanced up – and had to take a double look at the driver. What the hell?!

“Whoa, what the... what is this?” he stammered as he quickly got out of the car, his wide-open eyes roaming over the Mustang in front of him – holy crap was that their tribe's symbol on the hood?

 _This_ was Haytham's gift to mom?

He nearly missed the keys that were tossed at him, catching them and almost dropping them in the snow, his eyes still on the brand new Mustang as Haytham got out and walked back to his own car but not before he patted him on his back.  
It was a soft clap on his shoulders and Connor still stumbled forward, too surprised to even give a coherent answer.

It was a car. It was a fucking, brand spanking new, beautiful car, and even though he knew Haytham had bought it more for his mother's sake than for him... just... wow...

Connor opened his palm slowly and stared down at the keys in his hand, the trademark logo of a running stallion staring right up at him. Oh Jesus... this was too much. Way too much. Would mom even accept this?   
Turning Connor glanced over his shoulder, looking at his father who had already climbed back behind the wheel of his own car with an uncertain glimmer in his eyes before his fingers tightened around the keys again.

The new leather of the seat creaked as he sat down and the whole car came to life as he turned on the engine. Honestly, even though he had gotten his driver's license in one go, he didn't really have all that much experience outside of the lessons he had taken. Mom usually had the car with her. And no doubt Haytham would be watching his every move. Fuck if he put even a scratch on this thing his father would have his hide...!

He breathed out slowly and steeled himself, getting a good look at the dashboard and where everything was so he wouldn't make any mistakes, and gripped the wheel tightly. He could do this, without screwing up, and take this car back to his mother, safely.

He hoped.

-=-=-=-

He waited, watching Connor get into the car, frowning as his hands seemed to shake. Perhaps the grand nature of the gift simply caught him off guard.

Coming to life, he was slow to pull out of the drive way. Haytham raised an eyebrow as he waited for his son to turn. My, he was a cautious driver. Overly cautious, though he supposed it was better than reckless.

The first block or two went slow but steadily until a light changed, the car screeching to a halt and jolting, Haytham's brow furrowing. Okay?

Two blocks later and another abrupt stop made him frown, the lack of a turn signal another block down causing him to shake his head. Who gave Connor a license? He was a horrid driver!

He chose the next red light to call, Ziio picking up her phone and he placed it on speaker. "Ziio, quick question."

_"Yeah?"_

"When was the last time Connor drove your car?"

_"Five or six months ago. He's only driven a few times."_

… Son of a bitch. That explained a lot, and Haytham grunted with a scowl, biding her a good bye with a click.

The worst part was he couldn't be _angry_ with him; he never told them they were to pick up a car. Taking a deep breath, Haytham waited to the next signal, ignoring the still obvious abuse of the break peddle.

He didn't answer his phone, and Haytham felt his lips twitch upward; good lad, he probably shouldn't while driving anyway. He did however, still needed his attention.

The horn was loud enough to make Connor jump, and Haytham looked at him through the mirror: nervous, exceptionally so. He motioned and mouthed 'pull over', following Connor to the side of the road, parking in an empty shopping area. Connor stepped out as he did, Haytham locking his car door and stared at him blankly. 

They were about half way back, snow falling heavier now, dotting his tied back hair heavily. "Rusty, huh?" He'd leave it at that, leaning against the passenger door. "You need a refresher, open the door, buckle up. I'll instruct you on how to get back."

-=-=-=-

Fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! Oh god he sucked at this!

Well, normally he didn't. Really, he didn't. He wouldn't say he was good at driving, but he wasn't bad either. But god, every time he looked into the rear mirror he saw the head lights of the Rolls Royce behind him, Haytham watching his every move, seeing and remembering every mistake he made and that made him _horribly_ nervous.

And when he was nervous, _that's_ when he began making mistakes.

By the time Haytham signaled him to pull over Connor was a nervous wreck, his fingers clenching around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, sitting completely rigid in his seat. Not exactly how he wanted his father to see him but there was little he could do about it now. He couldn't order himself to 'man up' like that. Not now anyway.

And they weren't even halfway there yet.

As he noticed his father getting out of his own car and locking it, Connor worked on schooling his face back into something a little more masculine and took a deep breath. “Yeah.” he answered curtly. Rusty sounded about right.  
Pressing a button on the dashboard he heard the door on the passenger side unlock, and Connor shivered at the sudden gush of cold wind flowing into the car as Haytham opened the door and sat himself down next to him. “You... you're going to leave your car behind?”

-=-=-=-

"No Connor. I'm going to replicate myself mitotically and my clone will handle my car." Honestly, what a dolt of a question. 

Sighing, Haytham buckled up blinking. "Never you mind the car, Charles will be more than happy to pick it up later. Focus instead on your driving, you appear to have inherited your mother's lead foot." He needn't worry though, he'd remedy that, one way or another.

"Now, pull back onto the main road street and EASE, I emphasize that- the car forward, big toe only if you must. Just because the car can accelerate from zero to seventy in three seconds hardly means it should."

Blinking, Haytham watched him again, frowning as his hands shook. What the hell was making him so damn nervous? No matter, he wasn't a coddler, though he could instruct if necessary. "Just try to not kill us, hm?" There, that should lighten the mood.

-=-=-=-

Connor's nervous glare faltered a bit as Lee's name was mentioned, but it quickly returned as Haytham pointed out what he had to do. Right, ease the car forward, he had a habit of slamming his foot on the gas and the breaks.

Adjusting the side mirror he waited until a few cars had passed and did as told, slowly easing the car forward without any hitches... maybe this would work out, as long as Haytham stopped _staring_ at him and remained quiet aside from giving good instructions he could use, so-

"Just try to not kill us, hm?"

The effect was immediate; Connor's foot slammed on the break again and his hands left the wheel as the car came to an abrupt halt, though not so abrupt to jostle anything as they hadn't been going fast at all. “Screw this! Either shut up, or take the wheel yourself. You are _not_ helping! I admit it, you're making me nervous and I'm _not_ ruining this car just so you can put the blame solely with me.”

-=-=-=-

He grit his teeth as the seat belt held him in place, the comment on his tongue snide until Connor beat him to it. But it wasn't what Haytham expected in the least.

He balked, openly as if Connor grew another head. "Nervous?" He assumed that came with driving a new car or not wishing to ruin it, but _he_ was making the boy nervous? He'd hardly spoken to the lad.

Try as he might, he couldn't understand it, his expression carefully blank as he looked at his son, knuckles clenching the steering so hard they were almost white.

"Relax. That was an attempt at humor." A failed attempt at humor, and he contemplated taking the wheel, but no. No, that would be the easy way.

"I require elaboration regarding my abilities to make you nervous for no apparent reason, but I'll inquire later." And he would, truly, because he couldn't comprehend how just sitting there made Connor nervous. He wouldn't harm the lad, what was there to be nervous about? He could only remember such an emotion occurring in his youth; weapons training. He'd hit every target despite the shaking of his fingers. Yes, he'd made his father proud-

No. No that _couldn't_ be it. It was beyond fathomable to believe such a thing; Connor hated him, why would he care about his opinion?

Yet, that was the only thing that made sense. And his lips twitched, unsure of whether to smile or frown. This... complicated things.

"… Take the wheel, Connor, and relax. As I said prior, ease your way. Should you need more instruction, let me know." That was... how his father used to do it, yes? Perhaps correct him if a grave error was made, otherwise let him be.

"Let's get back before they start to worry." He couldn't look at him now, his voice not quite soft but losing it's bite. He just realized, he had no idea how to be a father, not really.

Now Connor was making him nervous, not that he'd admit it aloud. That was new.

-=-=-=-

No apparent reason? Connor scoffed and let go of the wheel, running his fingers through his black hair before adjusting his seat belt... to have something to busy himself with in the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over them both.

He wasn't looking forward to the talk Haytham promised they would be having, but he'd deal with that when the time came. For now, he still had to take this car back to his father's apartment in one piece.

The change in his tone though... it didn't go unnoticed, Connor catching onto the sudden lack of bite Haytham usually carried with him when speaking to his son. Even so, he did not comment on it and took the wheel once more. Haytham was avoiding his eyes now, keeping his gaze on the street in front of him and knowing that he wasn't staring and watching his every move helped a bit, and so did his promise not to say anything unless he specifically asked for more instructions. He was glad to see that his father at least seemed a bit willing to show him some consideration for once.

As Connor pulled onto the main road again it was again without any hitches, him focusing on the road and the traffic around him. He was still visible tense, but no longer slammed his foot on the break whenever a traffic light flashed to red, and remembered to use his turn signals this time. His driving still wasn't perfect, but better than it had been fifteen minutes ago when they left the garage. Still, he was more than relieved when he could finally pull the car into the garage of Haytham's apartment and parked in the spot next to the one the Rolls Royce had occupied..

“Jesus...” he muttered under his breath and slowly eased his grip on the wheel, taking out the keys before unbuckling his seat belt and opened the door. Stepping out he stretched slowly and tossed the keys to his father, though he avoided meeting his eyes. He wanted to back up to mom and Myriam. Or go back home. Something. Anything.

-=-=-=-

He didn't say much, pointing out an imperfection or two authoritatively but without his usual snark, his own eyes remaining on the outside scenery. He was wrong, he had to be. Perhaps he could not think of a reason yet, but Connor had no wish to make him proud or anything of the sort. He hated him, and Haytham clung to that tidbit until they arrived, catching the spare keys single handedly before pocketing them. It was better, that he hated him. He couldn't recall why, but it was.

They took the elevator up in silence, they both did, Haytham content with having some more mulled wine before conversing once again. Something to relax him.

They were still giggling when they walked in, or at least Myriam was as Ziio listened silently, corners of her mouth twitching until she laid eyes on them.

"Where'd you go, space?" 

Haytham failed to respond, not bothering to toe of his shoes. "Your present, before it gets any darker."

"You haven't eaten yet."

"I'll eat afterwards, it's worth seeing. " Hm, must be something important, especially with the way Haytham was acting. He didn't seem excited, but he was acting... differently. She couldn't quite put a finger on it, and she whispered into Connor's ear, curious. "What happened?" She frowned, biting her lip as she eyed Haytham's retreating and rather tense looking back. "Did you two fight again?"

-=-=-=-

Connor shook his head slowly. “No, there was no fight. Honestly.” he answered as he too looked at the retreating figure of his father leading them back to the elevator. “It was... more like a case of miss communication I think.” He forced a smile on his face before they stepped into the elevator. “Don't worry about it. Focus on the gift, it's pretty awesome.”

As they entered the garage Haytham led the way to the back where the Mustang stood waiting. Connor lingered behind, following at a distance and remaining so, with his hands shoved into his pockets even as the car came into view.

Myriam squeaked and immediately circled the vehicle, loudly proclaiming that it looked absolutely awesome. This at least got his lips to twitch a little... that was Myriam alright, always getting excited even over the things that weren't hers.

It wasn't difficult to guess what was inside the small package Ziio still held in her hands, still unpacked as she stared at the car with wide open eyes, clearly at a loss for words. He hoped at least she would be happy with it. His first ride with the thing hadn't been particularly nice, but perhaps that would change with time. He doubted he'd get a lot of chances to drive it anyway, but it was of no concern. The bus worked just fine for him, it had never let him down before and if he really needed a car he could always use their old piece of crap.

-=-=-=-

He wished he was in a better mood, but kept his face blank none the less, attempting impassive. Hard to do, with what his mind was reeling out but he'd try.

By the time he'd reached the garage he calmed considerably, almost back to a state of normalcy- or what he considered normalcy as he very plainly walked her to her new car, stepping back with a nod. Well, Myriam seemed to like it.

Ziio was completely silent, face betraying nothing as she examined the hood, the dark, earthy interior and the tiny dream catcher on the drivers rear view mirror, dangling and moving slightly in the breeze. Her favorite earthy colors, her favorite designs, tailored to her liking.

"Haytham." 

He watched her still, her voice steady. "Mm?"

"You suck." She turned unblinkingly. "This will make every present fail for every Christmas to follow. You truly are a douche bag."

He smirked, an arm briefly wrapping around her shoulders, squeezing. "Glad you like it."

"You're coming with me for a test drive in the morning."

"I could think of nothing better."

"So..." They turned on heel towards the elevator, her arm wrapping around his back. She'd heat their plates for them upstairs, this was a hell of a gift. ".. .how does it drive?"

"I wouldn't know. " A curious eyebrow raised, and he explained shortly. "You'd have to ask our son."

"You let him drive a brand new car, through the city?" Haytham tensed immediately at her tone. "Are you insane? I told you he hadn't practiced in months."

"He was already driving by then. I was with him, I wouldn't have let anything happen."

She frowned, not entirely satisfied but let it go. "All right then, Connor, how does it drive?"

-=-=-=-

Connor caught the words. He wanted to butt in and say that Haytham had only gotten into the car with him halfway through, not the entire ride but he didn't feel like getting into an argument now. So instead he just shrugged. “Fine.”

Figuring that that wasn't much of an answer, and after a sharp nudge from Myriam he elaborated. “Everything drives better than that thing we have back home, but... this one is very nice. Starts without any hick-ups and the wheel responds quickly and accurately, nor it is too heavy to become a nuisance. And the seats are great.” There, that would have to do.

Even heated up, the turkey still tasted delicious and so Connor indulged himself; it was a shame to let it go to waste and he was _hungry_ , it was too good for that. After wards they all retreated to the living room for coffee and mulled whine who wanted it. He and Myriam had small talk about silly things, upcoming school projects and things they wanted to do once they had a few days off again and the weather improved, leaving his parents to sit on the other couch and talk about... whatever it was that they talked about.

This was nice, Connor thought as he set his empty coffee cup on the table and stuck the spoon in his mouth, toying with it with his tongue. It was a habit of him, he always chewed on his pens as well.

Eventually Ziio stood up and offered to clean up the dinner table, much to Haytham's protests saying that it wasn't necessary and that he'd get someone else to do it later on, but she couldn't be persuaded. Myriam too offered to help, quickly setting her wine glass down as she stood up and smoothed out her dress before following Ziio to the dining room and the kitchen.

Connor became instantly aware that he was now alone in the living room with his father and abruptly stood up, angrily biting down on the spoon between his teeth. He was in no real mood to talk, surely once Ziio was done cleaning up the table they would go home? Unless she wanted to stay the night... Haytham had offered at the beginning of the evening. He supposed that wouldn't be too bad, it was just... he wasn't used spending so much time with his father nearby.

Walking back towards the window he leaned against; it was already dark out, snowing quite heavily and hiding the many night lights of New York behind a haze of white. It really was a pretty view...

-=-=-=-

Oh of course they'd insist, not that Haytham truly minded. Truth be told, cooking in the large quantities he had was rather exhausting, the prep had been tedious. Work from the previous evening was also less than pleasant, with Charles angry for his seeming lack of commitment to the company. The tone when he mentioned Ziio's name... Haytham had threatened to remove it permanently, Charles both taken aback and sneering. Yes, their relationship had declined quite a bit since Ziio and he became an item once more.

In leaving them alone, Haytham was tempted to fulfill his promise, instead noting Connor's odd tendency with silverware, watching him take in the sight of the cityscape, once again in his spot.

He found himself less bothered by that than before, his shoulders squared and tall, watching the snow fall. It reminded him of London, of Queen Anne's Square; of home before it became a shell of what it was. No, he hadn't had a home in a long time.

"Still bothered by my presence?" It was barely above a whisper, Haytham's eyes scanning the large buildings before him, anything but looking at his son right now. There were some things even he couldn't hide.

-=-=-=-

Connor made no sign he even acknowledged his father taking a place next to him in front of the window, and kept his eyes on the heavy snow fall on the other side. He seemed lost in thoughts, lazily swirling the spoon around in his mouth with his tongue and did not even answer Haytham at first... until he sighed.

“No.” he answered, pushing the piece of silverware to the corner of his mouth so he could speak. “Not really anyway. That depends on you whether or not I'm bothered by your presence.” Whether he behaved, or did anything to draw a negative response from him with his baiting. As long as Haytham acted in a way that was normal – which was difficult enough for him anyway it seemed – then no, Connor wasn't too bothered by it. That was up to his father.

The metal of the spoon clacked against his teeth as his dark eyes caught the lights of a helicopter in the distance, and followed it until they disappeared out of sight, the silence heavy between them. “Dinner was good by the way. You're a pretty good cook.” he finally muttered. It was Christmas, he should at least tell the old man _something_ nice. He really should wish him Merry Christmas too but... it hadn't happened yet, nor did he feel like saying so.

-=-=-=-

He hadn't known whether to expect an answer or not. Truthfully he didn't know if he should care. He was more tempted to yank the spoon from his son's mouth, the clack of metal against teeth making his eye twitch. When he did receive the answer, he was silent, only because he was baffled.

"… Glad you enjoyed it." Though he really didn't care at the moment, as much as it was surprising to hear praise from his son. No, he couldn't comprehend a few things.

"At the risk of sounding moronic, I must confess, I have no idea what you're talking about." He paused, gaze strictly peripheral. "If you mean the goading, yes, that would be annoying. That's why I do it. I quite like goading you when you irritate me." He probably wouldn't like that response but he was being honest. "The sarcasm isn't going anywhere, either. That's simply the London in me talking. If you have a friend from Britain, you'll understand, it's simply how we are."

He couldn't help but sigh, somewhat let down by the response. "I'd wish you'd be more specific. Other than the baiting- and I all ready explained why I do that- I don't get why I make you..." He waved his hand, motioning. "… feel nervous of all things." He understood he wasn't the warmest person but surely he wasn't that unapproachable. 

For a moment he was quiet, watching the snow fall in an increasing flurry. "I'm unaccustomed to all of this." He gestured towards Myriam and Ziio, the two chattering in the background, the clatter of silverware heard. Family, dinners, compliments that weren't thinly veiled... it was a different world for him, one he thought he'd lost so long ago.

Forty-three years of passed holidays. At some point, you stop caring. Or convince yourself that you have. It was no matter, he shouldn't have brought it up. It only served as a reminder, the frailty of humanity, people, family. Things he didn't wish to consider without wine, a lot of wine. He was silent for a moment, before whispering, so low it almost surprised even him. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't, but the military will do that."

-=-=-=-

Rolling his eyes Connor ground his teeth down on the metal in his mouth and pressed his head against the carved wooden frame of the window, stubbornly keeping his eyes _away_ from his father. No shit Sherlock. As far as he was aware Shaun wasn't from London but he was still a Brit and his sarcasm sometimes knew no bounds. It was like the tea thing.

He wasn't particularly eager to explain why he had been so nervous while driving the Mustang back to his father's place, and clearly Haytham couldn't figure it out on his own. Probably because he didn't think he was doing anything wrong, or even realized what an effect that had.

So he remained quiet, watching as the helicopter appeared back into view and circled around for whatever reason. He wasn't accustomed to this, he said? Why was that? Even before this, hadn't he at least celebrated Christmas with that greasy friend of his and his other pals who worked with him? Or did it run deeper?

Shifting on his feet he took the spoon out of his mouth and absently twirled it around in his fingers, giving his father a short side-ways glance. “You were in the military?” Huh... that explained things. Some of it anyway, his dickish behavior for one. “I contemplated joining them myself.” he muttered, not really sure why he was even telling him this because surely he wasn't interested in hearing, or would think of him a coward for not going through with it.   
It was true, he really had wanted to join, to go out and do something meaningful for his country... but he hadn't because that would have meant leaving mom behind in uncertainty, alone to fend for herself. He couldn't do that to her. So he stayed and pursued a Major in history instead. A very different course of action.

“Look,” he finally said and straightened, tapping the spoon against the window frame as he searched for the proper words to say this. “I don't like you, and you don't like me. We both know that and honestly, I don't even care. It wouldn't even surprise me if you consider me an accident that shouldn't have happened. Again, I don't care.” Well, he did care, and he really hoped that Haytham wouldn't confirm that little bit of information.

“I can't do right in your eyes. Everything I do, you always see something to complain and nitpick about and you do so without restraint. To you, I'm just an ungrateful, selfish brat with a temper, I'm sure. Everything you do, you do for mom and if I can somehow benefit from it, I should probably consider myself lucky and be grateful. The car, as nice as it is, you bought that with mom in mind. Yet you made me drive it, and I knew, just _knew_ that if I accidentally put a small scratch in the paint or a dent in the hood or even a tiny, miniscule tear in the leather seat, you'd have my hide for ruining mom's gift. I knew that when you handed me the keys, that was why I was nervous. Don't get me wrong though,”

Connor turned fully, his back towards the window as he fixed his father with a firm glare, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows lowered and his lips pressed into a thin line. “I am not afraid of you. I know that you're pretty much an asshole by nature and that you're not going to change for my benefit. However, I do not want to deal with any fits of anger you decide to throw in my direction whether they are justified or not. I don't want to deal with you venting your frustrations and irritations out on me simply because you don't like me, yes that _is_ exactly what you do and I _have_ to deal with it because I promised mom I'd hang out with you.”

Putting the spoon back into his mouth Connor turned to face the window again and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the window frame once more. It felt good getting that all out of his system... it had been bothering him for a while. It was stressful, always having to be on his guard whenever Haytham was around, or even when it was just him and mom and the topic was about his father. He had to be so careful not to say anything that wouldn't be received well, because in the case of Haytham he would immediately seize the opportunity to throw his words back at him with a bonus, or in the case of mom, she would be saddened that her son and the man she loved couldn't seem to ever get along.

“I'm willing to try harder for mom's sake.” he muttered after a while. “I'm even willing to try and understand why you are the way you are if you let me. But only if you promise to make more of an effort as well. You're too much of a dick. I don't care if that's 'natural' for you, you can be a dick to your employees and co-workers all you want but I'm not one of them so stop treating me as such. I'm your son, whether you like it or not so try to tone it down a bit and I will do the same. That's what mom wants... that's what would make her happy. That's all I wanted to say.” 

He sighed and then added a soft, “Merry Christmas, dad.” before he turned to walk away.

-=-=-=-

 

He could only remain silent as the accusations mounted, barely fighting back the scoff. It would always come to this, wouldn't it? Somehow everything related to the delusion Connor concocted out of nothingness. His attempt at conversation floundered and he stilled, gaze never faltering from the window. If he had any inkling of what surrounded Haytham in his solitude, perhaps he'd be more like his mother. The facts of their lives drifted between them both periodically, their conversations long and often ending only when one of them fell asleep in the wee hours in the morning.

Again, she was like him. Emotions were second to fact.

Connor was simply a different way, his heart located on his sleeve for all to see. It almost made him shudder; that sort of emotional honesty, the idea of being so open in plain sight. Admirable and foolish all in one.

What truly bothered him had little to do with Connor's emotions and everything to do with his assumptions. He was misjudged horribly by his own son and had no way of rectifying it without placing blame on Ziio. If only he truly knew... but no. Never. He could bare the brunt of his sons hatred if he must. He outwardly said he didn't like him, didn't care about how he felt- and while it made no sense, why someone would be nervous in front of the father they couldn't care less for- he'd let it go. Their relationship couldn't be salvaged. 

Perhaps it was better that way.

He almost didn't stop him, but he too had something to say, gaze still to the window. "My pet name for your mother is woman. Have you yet to realize her pet name for me? In case not, I'll refresh your memory; it's douche bag." Lips twitched upward slightly, fingers touching the chilled glass. "That's her term of endearment for me. Tell me, do you think I received it by sending her flowers and writing sonnets?"

He continued lightly, fingers dancing across fogged glass to create intricate patterns. "I will not change to suit the needs of others, regardless of circumstance. That's favoritism, racism, gender bias. I'll have no part in it. I treat your mother no differently than anyone, and she understands regardless." And vice versa, he wouldn't expect her to change, wouldn't want her too. Ziio would no longer be herself otherwise. 

"Perhaps one day, when you aren't consumed by your distaste for me you'll see what she does." Of course, he'd need divulge information regarding his past. Judging by this conversation alone there was little likelihood of such occurring.

So much more he could add, but he didn't particularly feel the need, instead turning to meet his son, emotionless and concealed. "Just a tip, when you lie, you press your lips into a line. Your mother does the same." A pause and he clapped his sons shoulder, leaning into whisper softly.

"Be advised, I do not make mistakes, Connor." He dared to look into the confused brown eyes before him, his own eye twitching. "Accidents happen, yes. But I've yet to have an accident occur with a result I regret." Confusion lit his sons face and he pat his back once more, walking away. "Happy Christmas, son."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkward bonding tiemz!
> 
> Chapter 5 will be uploaded this Thursday and it will have the first Big Plot Point! Very excited for it ^-^
> 
> As usual, there may still be a few typos. Ignore them, they'll be fixed asap. Enjoy!

New Years Eve came and went, signaling the start of the new year and marking the end of the holidays – and the end of Connor's free days.

The news about Haytham Kenway being quite possible his father had spread like a wild fire. They remained rumors, nothing was official but that made the others only more intent on finding out the truth, bothering him between classes and pelting him with questions about his relationship with Haytham.   
It wasn't just annoying, it was stressful and they wouldn't leave him alone. Eventually teachers had to step in and order the students to leave it and give him some space, though it was clear that they were just as curious as the students were.

At least things had quieted down a bit.

Connor still went to his bi-weekly lunch hours with his father. Ever since the dinner at his house and their talk there... well, he couldn't say that things had truly changed between them; those hours together were still awkward and strained, even now, but perhaps... perhaps Connor hated his father a little less now. Still disliked him greatly, but it had been a relief to hear that he wasn't seen as an unfortunate accident that was now getting in the way of his father getting back with Ziio.

But yes, still hated him, and the feeling still seemed mutual.

The security guards at the Corporation, and the secretary whose name he learned was Catherine or simply Kate, were no longer surprised by his visits. They had probably been informed and whatever Haytham had told Kate, she was no longer the uptight bitch he thought her to be. Actually, she was quite pleasant, often sparking a short conversation with him when he arrived before allowing him through to the elevator.

Connor had also had a few more run-ins with his father's colleagues. Charles Lee was still a racist dick, and while he usually kept his mouth shut when Haytham was around, Connor was all too aware of the hateful glances sent his way whenever they were in the same room. He had never done anything wrong to the man, it was simply because he had Mohawk blood in him, or was a half-breed in Lee's words. That was enough to be labeled as scum or trash it seemed.

The others, Hicky, Church and Pitcairn were alright, but it was William Johnson who Connor really liked. Johnson was pleasant company and often showed a genuine interest in his studies, which was nice (seeing as his father didn't give a damn).

“I'm home!” Tossing his back in its usual place Connor quickly removed his jacket and sneakers and walked through the short hallway; pressing his ear against the closed kitchen door he was relieved to not hear any... unwelcome sounds and opened it, finding his mother seated at the (new) kitchen table. “Hey mom.” Leaning down he kissed her cheek and moved to the refrigerator.

“Hey son, how was class?”

“Fine. Not much to tell. It's been quiet.”

“Good.”

Hmhm. Yay, there was still mountain dew left. He might be a little... addicted to the stuff.

“Connor, I have to talk to you.”

Connor froze and slowly straightened, closing the fridge behind him as he glanced over his shoulder. “Whatever it was, I can assure you I didn't do it.”

“It's not about anything like that, Connor. Please sit down.”

Oh dear... Taking a seat opposite of his mother he popped the lid of the mountain dew can, staying silent as he waited for Ziio to explain what this was about. He really hadn't done anything wrong, hadn't gotten into fights, hadn't gotten into heated arguments with his father lately, had done his homework and continued to get decent grades... so what was the problem?

“Do you have any plans for the upcoming weekend yet? You're going to the woods right? To hunt?”

“Yeah... probably.” What did that have to do with anything though? “I asked Myriam to come along but she said she couldn't make it this weekend, so I'm not entirely sure yet whether I'll go.” Even though he was itching to get out of the city again, even if it was just for a day or two.

“Well, I was thinking...” Ziio continued and fingered the rim of her coffee mug, a trait Connor knew meant that she wasn't entirely sure about what she wanted to say. “Your father... we used to go out hunting a lot before you were born. If Myriam is not going, maybe... perhaps you could go with him to-”

Connor barely refrained for spitting out his drink and his expression scrunched up as he strained to swallow it properly. Say what now?! Go out camping and hunting with his _father?_ “... why?”

Ziio sighed. “Because... I think that it might be good for you both. To do something different together, depend and rely on each other-” But he didn't _want_ to rely on the bastard! “-a change of scenery and maybe it will improve things. Perhaps this is exactly what you two need.”

“Ugh, mom, the last thing I need when I go out hunting is a... a business man making a racket and chasing all the game away.”

“Connor... Haytham knows how to hunt.”

“Maybe, but I'm sure he hasn't done it in twenty years!”

“Will you at least consider it?”

He sighed. He wanted to say _no_ so badly. “... have you asked him?”

“Not yet, I wanted to run it by you first.”

Gee thanks. But hey, good chance that Haytham wouldn't even want to go! “Ask him first then, before I make a decision.” He'd probably say no and all would be well, he wouldn't even have to agree that way.

-=-=-=-

Sneaky, he had to be sneaky about it, though truth be told he hated such things.

New Years had been pleasant, the few months to follow even more so; almost everyday he'd see her, no matter how briefly. Connor wasn't entirely pleasant but he'd grown accustomed to awkward lunches, going as far as to not pay them any mind. Yes, it was going smoothly, the company was doing well, and it seemed the other executives- namely Johnson, unsurprisingly- had taken a liking to Connor.

All but one.

"Fiscal reports were left by Hickey, did you want me to review them now?" 

Haytham ignored the yipping of the Pomeranian by his feet, tempted to kick the dog out of the window- out of any dog why a Pomeranian? Why not a Mastiff, or an Irish Wolfhound or perhaps a Great Dane?

"That would be fine, Charles." What the man brought to his own office wasn't his concern, be it his overly exuberant little dog or what have you. It merely irritated him that he couldn't see the comparison; the glares that accompanied Connor's every movement needed to stop. Connor was his son, no matter how much the boy would probably prefer a father like Johnson. Respect need be paid.

-you are a sweet carress, you've shared my loneliness, you are a dream come true, that's what you are-

He recognized the ring tone, they all did. Ignoring the heated glare sent his way, he answered swiftly.

"Woman? Everything alright?" She wasn't one to call during his work hours.

 _"I have a question for you."_

He blinked, already expecting it to be asked; it was almost as if she was gauging his response beforehand. Which meant one thing... "What activity regarding Connor am I to partake in this time?"

 _"God, you're charming."_

He heard her sigh and thought against saying anything further, already high strung regarding a certain missing ring that she hadn't seemed to notice. Yet. It was a matter of time, he needed the jeweler to hurry up.  
"High strung, I'm afraid." For reasons she needn't know, and would hopefully not ask.

 _"Oh?"_

… Damn it. "Unimportant, really. Tell me of my next mission." Because that's what they were, missions that would attempt to cause them both to 'bond.' "Are we to wage war against a common foe and call a temporary truce?"

Ziio's lips twitched. _"Something like that. If you consider turkeys and rabbits to be foes."_

"There is no greater foe than a rabbit, fluffy bastards." She spared a chuckle, and he blatantly glared back at Charles until he turned away, rolling his eyes. "When?"

 _"Well, this weekend..."_

He hesitated, blinking twice. "I thought we were going camping this weekend?"

 _"I'd really like if you and Connor would instead... he was supposed to go with Myriam but something came up, and I want you two to bond."_

He barely held back a sigh. So, no weekend with Ziio, he traded the company for Connor? Down grade, definitely a massive down grade. "...Have you asked Connor about this?"

That time she did sigh, he could almost hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. _"Yes. He said it was up to you."_

Which meant he wanted him to say no. It also meant if he said no Ziio wouldn't go anyway. Regardless, his plans for this weekend were thoroughly destroyed. He'd find another way to approach it, then...

_"Haytham?"_

"… All right." He sighed, somewhat heavily but said nothing else. He supposed he could let the boy know of his intentions, and at the very least could blow of steam by shooting some fluffy animals. The little yipping dog next to him only furthered his desire.

_"Really?"_

"No, fakely. Yes, really... I'll pick him up the same time I would have picked you up." 

If she heard the remorse in his voice, she ignored it. _"I do appreciate this."_

"Mm."

Yes, perhaps the silent treatment was a bit much but that was too bad. He wasn't in the mood to talk at the moment, nor to deal with the glares Charles was sending him. He'd deal with it after he came back in a few days. He wondered if Connor had ever used a rifle before shoving the thought away. He could work a sling shot well, surely he had some sort of experience with aim...

He left his office after giving Charles a few instructions, heading back to his home to pack. So much for looking forward to some time off.

-=-=-=-

Friday came far too quickly for Connor's tastes. He had requested the next off from work, but he almost wished he could just ditch this whole trip and get his ass back to the Red Mango anyway. One lunch hour with the old man was already difficult enough to manage... let alone an entire weekend.

Ah well... he'd make the best of it. He was too eager to get out and breathe in the fresh air of the forest again, and do what he loved doing whether Haytham was there or not.   
Unlike driving, at least this was something he had experience with so there wasn’t a lot his father could nitpick on. Heh, it might even be the other way around. Surely the old man was rusty when it came to hunting.

“You finished packing?” Ziio stuck her head through the doorway, scrunching her nose at the mess in his room – bah, he'd clean up after this trip.

“Yeah, almost.” Lets see... fresh clothes, a small med-kit for emergencies, his set with skinning knives, a couple of bags, ropes and sheets of plastic to wrap the meat in, camouflage outfit, a camera, his phone, gloves, provisions, plastic cutlery, mugs and plates, a lighter, compass, tent, sleeping bag and of course his trusty Winchester Tracker compound bow plus arrows. There were probably still some things he had forgotten but Ziio would remind him of those.

Running a cleaning rag over his bow for the final time he glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the door and sighed... his father would be here in less than fifteen minutes to pick him up. Grumbling he carefully put his bow and arrows into its carrier bag and zipped it shut, taking it and his backpack to the kitchen. They wouldn't get any hunting done tonight, they had to drive for two hours at least but at least the weather forecast for this weekend was positive. There was unlikely to be any rain.

Despite not looking forward to go out hunting with his father, as the minutes ticked by Connor couldn't help but start feeling eager for this; it had been quite some time since he had last gone out hunting. He missed doing it and he wasn't going to let his father's presence ruin this.

Heh, who knows... perhaps he could teach the old man something.

The doorbell rang and sighed... that had to be him. “I'll get it.” Leaving his bags on the table Connor stepped into the hallway and unlocked the front door.

-=-=-=-

Black powder muzzle reloader rifle? Check. Multiple scopes? Check. Adequate ammunition and camouflage? Check. Cooler for meat and plastic wrap? Check. Extra Swiss army knife and cutlery? Check.

Haytham stared about the neat surroundings of his car, doing a last minute run through before sighing. To think, he could be hunting with Ziio again, in a shared tent - and perhaps sleeping bag- under her favorite skins as they used to, curled beneath the sky. Instead, he got to share a tent with his son, hater of his very existence and troublesome lad who'd do anything to increase his misery. For two nights.

Oh Yippee skippy.

He pulled up almost slowly, almost dreading it beyond comprehension but he remained silent, fingering the small, concealed object in his pocket with a sigh. It was even ready on time.

Pushing thoughts aside, he knocked softly, door opening to reveal Connor. Haytham nodded once, watching Ziio turn the corner, caught between asking her to come along and ignoring her completely.

"I made you tea."

Well, damn.

He found himself seated almost immediately, putting on his best happy face- or what could be considered happy for Haytham- before sipping his tea. Horrid. Water bogged. Dreadful. She never could make tea. "It's quite nice thank you."

She almost laughed and filled his thermos with it. "That bad, huh?"

"Probably worse." And he'd drink every drop of it, accepting the thermos back as Connor sulked. The feeling was mutual, he wasn't looking forward to a two hour drive either.

Well, maybe he could ask during their drive, or something. Perhaps Connor had a taste for music that wasn't that god awful rap these people from the states loved. Ghastly, what was a superman and why would one do so to a woman paid for pleasure?

"Ready then?" He'd stop stalling and Ziio offered a lip twitch and a kiss on the cheek. 

"Behave." She looked between the both of them seriously. "Both of you. I mean it."

"I'll be on my best." He wanted a proper kiss before he left, but accepted another to the cheek. "Let's go then, Connor."

No reason to delay the inevitable any longer. This would be the longest drive he'd ever made.

-=-=-=-

Right then... Grabbing his backpack and the carrier bag holding his bow he kissed his mother on the cheek as well, bidding her a soft 'see you soon' before following Haytham out of the door. His stuff went into the vacant back seats before he opened the front door at the passenger's side, and waved at his mother one last time as she stood watching in the doorway and raised her hand in return, before he slipped in.

Buckling himself in Connor pulled out his phone to check for messages – nothing – and called up the text menu, writing a quick text to Myriam. 

_going hunting with dad for a whole weekend, save me DX_

Pressing send he placed his phone on the dashboard and kept his eyes forward, pointedly not looking in his father's direction. This was going to be so weird and awkward... He managed one last glance at his mother before Haytham stepped on the gas and drove forward, Connor keeping his eyes on her until they turned a corner and she was cut off from view.

He sighed. “Soooooo...” he started as he plucked at the hem of his shirt... they had a two hour ride ahead of them, and after this was over at least no one would be able to say that he hadn't tried to spark up a conversation. Perhaps it would even be pleasant. “Mom said you and her used to go out hunting before I was born. Just how much experience do you have? You're not too rusty I hope?”

-=-=-=-

He blinked in surprise, keeping his eyes on the road. A question with only a hint of possible insult? Well that was odd.

"Not as rusty as you may think. Our idea of a date is a shooting range or hunting trip followed by eating whatever we happened to catch." Immediately Haytham let out a low laugh at a particular memory.

"She once convinced me she could behead an animal with her tomahawk alone. Intrigued, I grabbed a fish we had already caught and laid it on a rock. She somehow convinced me to hold it, out in front of me and over my head before she threw it." He paused, eyes flicking to the red light and turned so his son could see his left arm, bunching the sleeve over his bicep and showing off what had been a muscle deep wound, one that had not only bled profusely but had also hurt horribly at the time. It still did when it rained.

"Needless to say I moved, she missed... and fourteen stitches and four staples later our third date came to an end."

He was smiling, he could feel it, and for once didn't do anything about it. "I haven't been in sometime, but I'll never forget how to use a gun. Military, if you recall." Speaking of which, he'd meant to ask, prior... and they had plenty of time to kill.

"Why didn't you join?" His tone was completely neutral, save for a twinge of curiosity. "I assure you, it's not as horrid as most would have you believe." His best memories stemmed from there, both Charles and Johnson; he'd met Johnson in that juvenile training facility, Charles would come a few months to follow. Two of his closest friends, really.

-=-=-=-

Oh right, military. Yeah, he'd probably be good with a rifle then. Connor eyed the scar curiously, his eyebrow rising slowly as he listened to what had caused such an injury. Oh, that sounded like his mother alright. That had been a dumb move, ducking away if she had told him to stay put. He should consider himself lucky that the tomahawk had only nailed his arm and not his head.

“Sounds like mom.” he muttered and picked up his phone again when it dinged, quickly skimming over the teasing message Myriam had sent him and that she'd handle his funeral. Har har, funny.

“I wanted to.” Placing his phone back on the dashboard he offered a small shrug of his shoulders, his eyes on the car next to him. Two little girls sat in the back, both with a Nintendo DS in bright pink in their hands. He couldn't see what kind of game they were playing. “I really did. I seriously considered going, but... well, you know. It would have meant leaving mom behind to fend for herself.” He tried not to make that sound like too much of an accusation, but it was the truth.

“I couldn't do that to her, so I stayed and pursued a Major in history instead. I didn't-” Clearing his throat he stayed for a few short moments, tapping his fingers on the window as he searched for the right words. He could now see that the girls were playing some kind of Pokémon game. “I didn't want to be selfish.” he finally mumbled. “Mom said it didn't matter, said I should go and join if that's what I truly wanted. But I didn't want to leave her in that kind of uncertainty. What if something happened to me? She'd be alone, she'd have no family left. I couldn't be selfish in that way. So I stayed.”

-=-=-=-

So many things he truly wished he could say, but what would they truly remedy? No, Connor, I didn't leave your mother in uncertainty, she _chose_ it. No Connor, you have no idea what it's like to be cast aside, whether or not it was for your own good regardless. He refused to admit he had a heart in the romantic sense, but what was stepped on that day had been replaced with something colder, and he was fairly cool to begin with. For years he'd acted as if all were alright, but he'd tried to find her, and after three years of dead ends he gave up. He had no idea what he insinuated- none too subtly- was falsity.

Yet, telling Connor this would accomplish nothing. What then if he knew? He wouldn't let Ziio bare blame, he had failed to keep his wits about him, becoming indecisive in his final days. There was no bond to be had for them, he was a dead beat father by another name, that was all.

"… ah." No trace of humor or smile to be seen, he drove onward, jaw clenched.

Just accept the hatred, Haytham, don't try and understand it, or fix it. It was easier this way.

He was completely silent save for one syllable answers until they reached their destination and parked. He popped the trunk wordlessly and gathered his own things, expecting Connor to do the same.

In times like this, he wished he believed the bullshit he fed everyone else.

"Camp is ahead. Let's go." The most he said in almost two hours, walking in learned military stride, tense as always. A long two days indeed.

-=-=-=-

Ah. That was all the answer he got. A flat simple 'ah'. One word. Why had Haytham even bothered to ask then?

And it didn't improve... the entire ride his father was mostly silent and when he did say something, it was more of those short one-worded answers. This was a great beginning of the weekend, note the sarcasm.

By the time they arrived it was already nearly dark out. Connor got out of the car and removed his bags from the trunk after his father did and watched as he locked the vehicle. They had a map of the area and it showed a river nearby... he preferred to make camp there, it made the most sense but if Haytham decided to be stubborn...

Heh, but _he_ held the map though. Shifting his bags to make them a little more comfortable to carry he broke off into a short run to catch up to his father who was already walking ahead, and pointed at the map. “There's a river nearby, we should go there, make camp and move deeper into the area tomorrow.” Perhaps they could catch some crayfish in the river if they were there, to add to their dinner. He was getting quite hungry.

“Unless you have a better idea...?”

-=-=-=-

A better idea? Coming without him for one was certainly bound to better.

"River is fine." No more than what he needed to say, he'd follow Connor if need be. It was just as well.  
A shame the company he kept was so poor. Crickets chirped, the twilight of the evening upon them and for a moment Haytham stilled. It had been far too long, since they'd gone hiking or camping. Next time it would be he and Ziio, let Connor stay with Myriam.

The thought made him smirk. "Are you working on those grandchildren yet? I wouldn't mind a granddaughter myself." As long as she was nothing like his son...

-=-=-=-

Connor sighed. Not this again... “No. And I already told you why.” He wasn't going to keep bringing this up, was he? It was unlikely he'd ever have kids, even if he ended up with a woman. He just... wasn't interested in starting a family. Perhaps that was because he had grown up in a family that hadn't been complete. He honestly didn't know. Could be because he simply didn't care.

Either way, that was all he'd say about the matter.

The trip to the river only took thirty minutes or so, helped along by the map and the light of the moon filtering through the canopy above. 'River' was overrated though, it was no more than a stream. Even so it would serve its purpose and there was plenty of room on the bank to set up a tent and make a camp fire. “I assume you do know how to built a fire?” he asked as he set his backpack down with a sigh of relief. The back of his shirt stuck to his skin, sweat seeping into the material. Good thing he had brought extra.

“I can set up the tent unless you want to switch? Er... I also assume that you brought a tent of your own with you?” Oh please let him have his own tent! The tent he had could fit two people but it was a tight squeeze... which was absolutely fine when it was just him and Myriam, but this was his dad!

-=-=-=-

Scoffing, he about threw his own bag down, intent on ignoring his son. Could he set a fire? For fuck's sake.

"Yes, I can _manage._ " For goodness, sakes it was hardly all that difficult, no more difficult than setting a tent. Ziio would- "Oh fucking _ars_ e." 

The moment after Connor asked it slipped from his mouth, hand cradling his forehead in his trade mark 'dear god why' pose. Ziio always brought the tent, he always brought a sleeping bag, they always shared blankets.

"… My tent is conveniently located in the spare bedroom’s walk-in closet, some three hours away." Because he forgot like a true champion that Ziio wouldn't be. Coming, and considering that was the only person he went camping with... bullocks. Just bullocks.

He set the fire quickly, using steel wool from the laboratory and a simple match, eye twitching. The steel wool would keep embering for some time, he merely needed to gather wood and stone, before...

"I'll sleep in the car. " After he set a fire, if only because it was technically his fault for forgetting the tent and it was his steel wool, therefore his fire. "I can meet you in the morning, I know where to look."

-=-=-=-

… he wanted to groan, he wanted to kick something, he wanted to punch _him._ How, HOW could he forget his tent?! Now they had to share the one he had brought along and oh god, they would be pressing up against each other in the small space inside. That was wrong in so many ways.

Shit shit shit shit shit. _Should have stayed home_ , he thought as he unpacked the tent and grabbed a handful of pins to secure it with. “Genius... how could you forget your tent when you know you go out camping?” he muttered under his breath as he attached the poles to one another to create the tent's frame.

Feeling the warmth begin to spread over their camp site, chasing away the cold of the night, Connor couldn't help but roll his eyes at his father. Hell no, he wasn't staying behind. “You're not going anywhere. As long as you don't snore I can deal with sharing a tent with you for two days. You won't be able to escape this tomorrow anyway, unless you fancy sleeping in the open air.” And if that was the case he hoped it frikkin' rained, though the weather report said it was unlikely.

“I don't like it either, but you don't see me running away from it.” The nights were still chilly enough that they would both benefit from sleeping in the same tent, body heat and all, and he wouldn't pass up on some more comfort despite hating how to achieve said comfort. Connor remained quiet as he finished setting it up and, flashing his father a smirk, began to unpack everything he would need for tonight; he'd secure everything else to a branch high in a tree in case a bear decided to come snooping. “Of course if you want to run away, I guess I can't stop you.” 

There, a challenge. He knew his father well enough by now that he wouldn't let that slide. He'd stay.

-=-=-=-

Oh he would make this into a challenge, wouldn't he? Still, he needed to reason, if only to better explain the situation. Not that he _owed_ Connor an explanation, he simply wasn't incompetent.

"Your mother always brought the tent, I the sleeping bags. While I realize she isn't here, that is what I am accustomed to and was therefore preparing for if you _must_ know." There, it wasn't his fault she changed her mind last minute on what was to be his nicest weekend in years. He frowned, eying his son who set up camp. So much for that.

He didn't snore, that wasn't what he was worried about. No there was something much more intimately embarrassing that he didn't need his son to witness under any context. But he had no choice... he'd regret it in the morning. They both would.

"I run from nothing." Gee wonder what the hidden message was in that remark, Connor. No matter, he wanted sleep. Anything to escape this terse conversation. "I'm getting changed. Good night." And he did, ignoring the eye roll he received as he settled in, boots pulled back on as he slept in a red flannel sweater, a favorite of Ziio's, and a pair of black slacks, to the left of the tent. Always to the left of the tent, that was _his_ spot regardless.

Before he could fully lay down, he took out his phone, typing quickly: _You should have come._

Not a minute passed before he received his reply, the edges of his mouth twitching. _I miss you too._

Feeling warmer, he settled against his sleeping bag, but not before toying with the ring in his pocket. Perhaps tomorrow, if he was lucky, would leave them the opportunity to talk about his next step.

-=-=-=-

Alright, good point. Still, it was dumb of him to forget. “You're not hungry?” he asked as Haytham made it clear he was tucking in for the night. So soon already? Fine, whatever, not his problem.

Turning his back on the tent Connor took out his supplies; a few sandwiches he had prepared beforehand plus a cup of chicken noodle cup-a-soup would be enough to soothe his rumbling stomach for now. He had a canteen filled with water he could use to boil for the soup.

Despite the horrible silent trip and the less-than-pleasant company, being out here in the fresh air with the smell of leaves and pine trees around him and the stars over his head made him feel better than he had in a while. He was looking forward to tomorrow, and nothing, nothing Haytham could or would say, would ruin that...

Connor climbed into tent about an hour later, having cleaned everything up and secured away from any wild life. Dressed in a fresh shirt and sweatpants he was fairly sure Haytham was already sleeping; still, getting into his sleeping bag without disturbing the man proved to be a challenge in the small space of the tent. He managed after a few minutes of carefully maneuvering himself inside, and laid down, pulling the sleeping bag up to his chin. Glancing to the side he stared at his father's face; it was too dark to see more than a silhouette of him, but it was still a weird feeling; they usually avoided being this close to each other.

No doubt tomorrow morning was going to be awkward, he though as he turned his back on Haytham and closed his eyes.

-=-=-=-

As a silent sleeper, Haytham stayed almost perfectly still throughout the night, only inching closer subconsciously as he felt something shiver in the morning. Stirring, he caught a glimpse of dark hair, the very small glint of beads catching his line of sight, almost impossible to catch. The glow of an opened cell phone barely made it visible.

He did what she always allowed of him, broad, strong arm enveloping a smaller waist, ofhandly wondering in his sleep-addled mind when she had bulked up. Such strong abdominal muscles, hm. He'd worship them later, with his tongue.

He was more than content to lay nestled, strengthening his grip as he shifted closer. Didn't smell like Ziio, did she change her shampoo?

Come to think of it... a pale blue eye opened blearily, thigh pressed to... that was _not_ Ziio, she simply didn't have that much, er... padding in the rear end, so to speak.

He moved, attempting to free his arm but he was trapped, a hand locking over his wrist and holding tightly, and Haytham stilled as the severity of the situation finally dawned on him.

Camping trip. Only one tent. Sharing with his _son._

Who would not let him _go!_

Granted he wasn't cuddling him but Haytham was practically flush against Connor, and yanking too hard would wake him up causing him to see... this moment! Their relationship was already strained, he did not need this!

Another low mumble and he was nestled closer, his thigh and other areas uncomfortably nestled at the cleft of... oh he didn't want to think of it! He'd never been more thankful for his lack of morning wood than in this moment.

There was no getting around it... he had to wake Connor up. He tried clearing his throat but it didn't work, and coughing loudly didn't work either. Why the hell was he such a hard sleeper?

It left him no other choice; Haytham wiggled to get his very much asleep other arm out and tapped his son on the head. "I feel uncomfortable, give me my arm." Now, damn it!

-=-=-=-

Connor had pleasant dreams that night. The details slipped away faster than he could hold onto them but he remembered that they were pleasant. Almost like trying to hold water in your hands; most of it seeped away between the cracks between one's fingers but there always remained a small puddle behind.

There was movement behind him, the warmth of another body pressed up against his back and stirring him enough to vaguely realize that he wasn't in his bed, because he could hear the birds chirp outside, and smell the fresh air of the forest. Right, camping trip. Hurhur Myriam, a little closer wouldn't hurt.

Smiling in his half sleeping state Connor pressed back against the presence behind him and buried his face further into the pillow, grabbing the arm that wrapped around his waist. He fully intended on sleeping for another hour or so; they had all day, those rabbits and turkeys weren't going anywhere.

He dozed off again, barely even acknowledging the sudden tenseness in the body behind him, nor the noises in his ear as Haytham unsuccessfully tried to wake him up. It took a sharp tap on his head and Haytham's actual voice to pull him back to the land of the living.

Connor blinked blearily, staring at the canvas wall of the tent. He was still holding onto to someone's wrist but it was too thick to belong to a woman... and he noticed a distinct lack of boobs pressing against his back. His eyes widened; oh fuck!

The yelp that left Connor's mouth bordered on the edge of un-manly as he jerked away from his father, scooting towards the wall of the tent and turned around; his face was flushed and his eyes were wide open in a mixture of surprise and shock as he stared at Haytham and realized that yes, it really had been his father spooning him just now. “What the fuck were you doing?!” he gasped. Huh, Haytham looked just as flushed and uncomfortable as he felt. But still! “Don't you ever do that again!” From pleasant dreams straight into a nightmare...

-=-=-=-

"Oh right, Connor, because that was my _intention_ , to touch you of all people." Really now, completely ridiculous. The lad was handsome enough, with some of his features, and the complexion of his mother with slightly darker eyes, but for goodness sakes, it was his son. His unruly, difficult, pain in the arse son.

"I tend to show... affection whilst sleeping, and bug off with the expression. You weren't exactly kicking me away either." More like pulling him closer, which was odd being that he was so obviously masculine. He'd dare not delve into his son's sexual preference, he'd rather not know.

"I' want to change, leave." Ignoring the glare that was precisely what he started to do, undressing as Connor started flailing around in his sleeping bag in a desperate attempt to flee the tent, a smirk on his face. "Go make breakfast, I'm hungry. Try not to burn anything." With the grace of the faceless gods may Connor cook with half the skill he did.

He attempted to ignore the glare he was receiving but wound up looking back, his son staring at him, and for a moment Haytham was silent.

"… I'll rephrase that."

Tentatively touching Connor's shoulder his lips twitched. "Please leave, now, and thank you for making breakfast in advance. Try not to burn anything, _please._ " See, diplomacy wasn't dead... but he was, he needed some damned coffee.

-=-=-=-

Almost impossibly Connor's face reddened even further and he quickly ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his face, a nervous trait he had adopted from his mother. “I thought you were Myriam.” he muttered, grumbling as his bed-hair fell back into his face. Dammit.  
It was a good thing he wasn't aware of the fact that Haytham had mistaken him for his mother as well, he'd probably promptly keel over in embarrassment.

He fixed his father with a venomous glare, as he always did when ordered around like a servant, and sat up, zipping open his sleeping back to create more room. Pfft, he wasn't going to make breakfast for him. He already had that covered, for himself at least. He still had a couple of sandwiches left and he wasn't eager to share.

Connor jerked, nearly shuddering and despite the surprising pleases in Haytham's words, he was out of the tent in record time. “Gross, ugh, bah.”  
He shivered in the chilly morning breeze and rubbed his arms before he pulled his shirt off and draped it over a low hanging branch; he'd get changed after Haytham was done.  
Strolling over to the nearby stream he knelt down and cupped water into his hands, splashing it into his face; his skin prickled and formed goosebumps where the near-freezing drops dribbled down his throat, collecting in the dip between his collarbones before making a trail down his chest.

He stayed there for a while, with his eyes closed so he could focus on his hearing, listening to the sound of the forest; the soft trickling of the stream, the rapid tat-tat-tat of a woodpecker nearby, the happy chirping of finches, sparrows and blackbirds all around, and, way in the distant, the bellow of a stag.

“You nearly done?” he called out as he stood up and made his way back to the fire; it had nearly died out overnight but some of the embers were still glowing. Connor knelt down next to it, added some dry kindle and twigs and prodded the embers with a stick and leaned forward, blowing on them until it caught fire once more. The growing warmth spread over his skin and he sighed, satisfied before he glanced at the tent again, and resisted the urge to yell at his father to hurry up already. His bags were still inside and he couldn't do much without them.

-=-=-=-

He kept his amusement to himself, changing in relative peace as silence engulfed them. A brisk morning, but a fine one. The air lay thick with moisture, undoubtedly leaving dew along the grass. Haytham dressed quickly, finishing in mere moments but halting as he switched the ring again, into his new set of pants. He should pack it away but no. Leaving it somewhere made him anxious.

Sighing, he folded up his sleeping bag, tidying up the inside of the tent as was his custom. A place for everything and everything in it's place, after all. Still, fingers traced the silhouette of the ring with a sigh. He should ask Connor about it, shouldn't he? Of course he was bound to say no, refusal was imminent, but he should _ask_ him, even if that was the case. Perhaps her own happiness would out weigh his discomfort?

"You nearly done?" 

Shaking his head, Haytham grabbed a comb from his back pocket, letting out his hair tie and stepping out of the tent, giving his hair a brief run through. Still wasn't hungry, but he'd force himself to eat. He hadn't actually expected Connor to make him anything.

"Mm." He'd untie the bags in a moment, there was a chill to the air and his watch read seven. Early enough to choke down something before hunting. Which meant, inevitably, more bonding time.

Oh yay.

He gestured to get his belonging from out of the tree but... he rose an eyebrow, not seeing any levy or rope, leverage, support... not anything.

Just how the hell did he get it up the- ohhhhhh.

It dawned on him with a twitch of his lips. "You climbed up there." Not a question, but a statement, a surprisingly nonjudgmental one. He could never climb tree's aptly, unlike Ziio. He preferred to take to the sea, or the land, he wasn't one for the air. "Fascinating." He would have said impressive, but that would surely inflate the boy's ego, one couldn't have that.

"Do you hunt in the trees too?" Hopefully not, though with his luck, the answer would be a resounding yes. He simply didn't climb _trees._

-=-=-=-

Ugh finally. Took him along enough. Connor eyed his father as he prodded the flames; huh he had never seen him with his hair down before. 

“Yes and yes.” he answered and tossed the stick to the side before getting onto his feet and brushed the dirt from his pants. He hadn't really expected for his father to have the climbing skills he and his mother did. Every moron could climb a tree, but the way they did it required a lot of practice, falling and trying again to master. Ziio had taught him that and other things since childhood.

“I'll get the bags in a moment. If you put some water on the fire to boil...” Let him sit there and wait for a while longer, he thought as he disappeared into the tent and zipped it shut. Changing into the camouflaged clothes he usual wore when out hunting he folded up his sleeping bag as well and checked his phone for messages, finding none. Too bad, he had hoped for at least one message from Myriam, or perhaps his mom asking how their first night had gone. Meh... stuffing the phone back in his pocket he opened the tent once more and dragged out the carrier bag holding his bow – no way he was storing that up high in a tree – and placed it on the forest floor near the fire. It didn't need any more maintenance but he liked having something to do while waiting for water to boil.

Glancing up he eyed the bag he had tied up high and rubbed his hands together before running the short distance towards the tree to gain enough momentum to jump and reach the lowest branch. He felt Haytham's eyes on him as climbed, twisting around the trunk and jumping from branch to branch with the grace of a feline, higher and higher until he reached the bag. With his legs dangling on either side he carefully untied the knots that kept it in place and slung it around his shoulder; climbing down was more difficult than climbing up, especially with the added weight throwing off his balance, and he was too high up to jump. Still he managed, making it back to ground level in under a minute and set the bag down on the forest floor with a grunt. Nothing wrong with a bit of showing off.

“Right... tea or coffee?” he asked as he zipped it open and began taking out more cooking gear and supplies.

-=-=-=-

"Mm." Psh, so because he could climb a tree or two he was suddenly uppity? Oh havens no, that simply wouldn't do. There was only one person who gave orders, and that was him.

...And maybe Ziio. But only because he allowed it.

Still, there was something to be said of his rather nimble climbing. Vaguely aware of his hair whipping about his face, Haytham tucked a piece behind his ear as he watched. Alright, it was impressive, his ability to balance was quite extraordinary.

Didn't mean he was getting that water.

"No one likes a gloater." It lacked bite, truth be told he gloated constantly himself. He winced at the question. "If you make tea like your mother, coffee." He paused, looking at the empty pot before him. "And watch your tone." He didn't need to have another tiff quite this early, so long as he realized making demands would get him no where.

That and he wanted his morning cookies. Sugar was so very underrated at this time in the morning, and Ziio made them for him. They weren't nearly as ghastly as the tea she made. 

Haytham reached into his bag and pulled out a container before flopping back, pleasantly observing the sky. Nice weather, he hadn't been out in a while. There was something to be said of the tranquility of the wilderness.

Sardines in mustard sauce in one hand, cookies in the other, it could be a pleasant day. Could be... he eyed Connor for a moment, contemplating, speculatively chewing the end of a cookie slowly.

"So... when's the last time you went camping?" There, something neutral.

-=-=-=-

… still no boiling water? Fixing his father with a stare Connor furrowed his eyebrows; la-zy! “No one likes a slacker, either.” he bit back and grabbed one of their canteens filled with water, pouring it into the cleaned metal can he had used the night before to make his soup.

What tone? It had been a perfectly normal question! He hadn't said anything wrong! Ugh, always searching for a flaw, his father. Sitting down next to the fire, opposite of Haytham he unpacked his sandwiches, raising an eyebrow and the cookies and the... sardines? What kind of a lame breakfast was that? 

He mulled the question over as he tossed a clean mug over the fire into his father's lap, as well as a plastic spoon, and three small paper packets with instant coffee, creamer and sugar. He wasn't sure how Haytham liked his coffee but once the water was boiling he could pour it himself. No way he was going to do it for him.

“The first weekend of October last year. Me and Myriam, deer season.” Emptying the three packets into his mug he leaned forward peered into the can to check whether the water was boiling already, and took it off the fire, filling his own mug first and then carefully handing it to his father. “Shot a buck of about six years old. Big antlers, they're on my wall and the skin is on my bed.” His best kill so far. “I really want to go bear hunting sometime but so far I haven't had the chance yet. Maybe this fall.” Stirring his coffee he popped the plastic spoon into his mouth as he waited for his coffee to cool down a bit, warming his hands around the mug, and raised his eyebrows. 

“You?”

-=-=-=-

The cup and individual packets landed on top him, Haytham adjusting with a glare as the cup thudded his stomach. A bit close to the jewels, Connor, just a bit close.

Still, the response was hardly what he expected; he was sure he'd somehow be blamed for any lack of hunting excursion, simply because he hadn't been around. But no, an honest answer and an attempt at conversation. Well, alright. He could do that.

"Greece, a few years ago with William. Quails and rabbits, mostly." A pause, and he breathed deeply. "Bear are quite interesting. The meat itself is quite good, I assume that's why they often saved it for Russian nobility and often gave lampreys to subjects. Lampreys are dreadful." He abandoned the creamer, opting for a single sugar in his otherwise black coffee, sitting up and adjusting his now slightly tousled hair. He really needed to tie it back, so irksome it was, about his face.

"I have the skin of a bear in my bedroom. Use it as a blanket, actually.” He warmed his hands on his cup, chuckling. "You should see the stares I get when I bring it with me. It's quite humorous."

His lips twitched upward before he stopped suddenly. "… Perhaps a trip to Appalachia, towards Virginia sometime is in order." As quickly as he mentioned it, he looked toward his watch, quickly finishing his breakfast and began to put things away. "About time we start heading out. You've the map, what's the destination?"

-=-=-=-

Oh, Johnson hunted as well? Awesome! That earned him bonus points! “Myriam doesn't want to hunt bears, says they are too fluffy. Which is... a really weird thing to say, with the claws and teeth and everything.” He shrugged and sipped his now adequately cooled coffee, temporarily taking the spoon out of his mouth to do so.  
He had never tasted bear before... this wasn't the first time he had heard it was quite good. Hopefully he'd be able to get a pass this upcoming bear season. It'd be so awesome to have a bear rug in his room!

He frowned a little, not sure if... was that truly... had Haytham really just made the suggestion that they should do this again sometime to hunt bears? Huh, fancy that... He wasn't given any time to answer it though – not that he had any clue as to what kind of an answer he should give - as his father suddenly seemed in a hurry to pack up and get started. Connor nodded and finished his coffee and sandwiches quickly, cleaning up their supplies, dousing the flames and packing up the tent.

“There should be an open field to the West about a mile from here, it's said it's a good place for hunting rabbits and hares. Turkeys might be difficult to find though.”

Zipping open his carrier bag he took out his trusty bow and slung the quiver of arrows over his shoulder, binoculars around his neck and a compass in his other hand. “This way...”

-=-=-=-

A combination of skill and luck, that's what it had to be. Haytham woke the following morning early enough to examine the full bounty of their catch of the previous day. Five rabbits and six hares, not too shabby. The turkeys had proven illusive for most of the day, but the rest had been a fairly easy catch, despite how quick they could be.

His son's archery was spot on, his aim nothing short of his own inherited perfection. The thought alone was new, almost foreign, an odd swell of something akin to warmth in him. He had offered a shoulder pat and little else; it was the only praise he knew.

It didn't make him less impressed.

All in all it had been pleasant; pleasant enough for him to consider telling Connor about his idea. Of course there was the large chance he wouldn't appreciate the gesture but his current mood rationalized a different out come.

He'd have to wait for Connor to awake to get the rest of his belongings, which were tied and tucked safely in the tree, but until then he'd revel in the small victory that was turning to be a pleasant weekend. With his son, no less.

Happiness bestowed itself as a twitch to lips and a slight gleam in blue grey depths.

-=-=-=-

Connor stirred slowly, blearily blinking up to the canvas roof of the tent. He was more than relieved to have woken up without his father spooning his back like yesterday. He offered a soft 'good morning' after he saw that his father was already awake, and stretched out slowly, arching his back until his spine and shoulders popped.

“I guess you want to get changed. I'm going, I'm going...” Not waiting for an answer Connor stood up and stumbled out of the tent, grimacing as he stepped into the dirt with his bare feet, wet from the dew. It was a little misty and from the looks of things it had rained a bit during the night... the fire had died out completely.

Bugger... Well, he wasn't going to make a new one. If dad wanted a fire he could do it himself.

Honestly, he was rather surprised at how... pleasant and easy going the day before had been, as he slowly climbed the tree to remove their belongings. It had actually been quite enjoyable; Haytham was a pretty good hunter, better than he had expected him to be, and knew how to handle his rifle. He had expected a snippy comment about his own choice of weaponry, but his father had remained silent on that as well, even going so far as to give him an awkward, short pat on the shoulder.

Weird, but not unpleasant. If they could keep that up today as well...

-=-=-=-

"Morning." A nod and a chuckle, he watched Connor leave quickly. Perhaps there was hope for them yet, if the boy could remember routine, anyway.

He was quite comfortable, taking a moment to lounge before dressing. The chilled air hit him, a few locks of hair escaping the confines of his pony tail and hanging about his face. Damned fire.

He'd prefer dryer tinder but the gathered wood could suffice; it was but damp. Steel wool was in his bag in numerous amounts anyway, Connor already working on them bringing them downward.

The moment he landed Haytham took his bag, actually murmuring a small thanks as he removed steel wool and a full canteen, pouring the contents into a pot for coffee for the two of them.

It was now or never, he'd need to say it, and he simply wasn't one to tread gently.

"I want to marry your mother." So lightly he barely heard it himself as he tended to the fire, restarting it. "I've no intention of leaving..." His eye twitched, but he continued, "… and thought it best to..." he frowned.

Why was he asking permission to marry Ziio ?

He couldn't quite recognize a valid reason for it, save one. And he needn't confess to it aloud. "I'm running it by you, as a pre-caution." To alert him, of course. It was inevitable, what would happen. It certainly wasn't for approval.

-=-=-=-

Oh wow, even a thank-you. Clearly the fresh air was doing Haytham good. Staying cooped up inside an office all day surely did no wonders for one's mood.

Connor sat down next to the fire, glad to see that his father already begin working on rekindling it without even needing to be asked. He was even preparing everything they would need to make coffee! Miracles did happen!  
Smiling to himself he took out his bow again as the water began to boil, doing some light maintenance where it was necessary and cleaning up the arrows he had used the day before. He really hoped to bag a turkey today before it was time to go back... they still had quite a walk ahead of them back to the car, which meant less hours hunting. There were turkeys around at least, he had heard on gobbling in the distance as he sat in the tree minutes prior... they just needed to get lucky and find some decent tracks.

Haytham's words were so softly spoken Connor barely heard them over the happy crackle of the flames, but he paused what he was doing anyway and frowned... say what now?

"I've no intention of leaving... and thought it best to..."

He looked up slowly, the confusion on his face slowly making way for anger. Marry his mom? _Seriously?!_

"I'm running it by you, as a pre-caution."

“Are you fucking kidding me?” A pre-caution? Fucking hell! So far for the pleasant morning. “You are twenty years too late for this! This better be a sick joke!”

-=-=-=-

The softened edges of his voice faded, the mask he'd been comfortable to let slip firmly back in place. "Language boy, and I am most certainly _not_ a joke, I'm quite serious." As was his tone. CEO Haytham Kemway was quickly emerging, jaw tight and eyes the shade of tumultuous storms. "Not that I need to explain the reason to you but the opportunity evaded me twenty years ago where as of _now_ I can't think of a reason to decide otherwise." Because Connor was certainly not a reason. Nor would he ever be with his out bursts and accusations...

What had he expected anyway? Connor knew nothing of what happened decades ago, nothing of what he went through. Damn it, it wasn't his _fault_ he wasn't there!

There was no point to argue, it was beyond reason. He would remain the bastard father that abandoned Connor and his mother before his birth. His grandchildren would hate him, as would his son, never knowing an ounce of the truth.

Haytham snatched his food and went to get his rifle. Fine by him. He didn't deserve to know any differently.

"Find a turkey and shoot it so we can end our little 'trip'." If he was a little less proper he would have spat. "I've a to be fiance _waiting_ for me."

-=-=-=-

“I beg to differ, seeing as you're a laughable excuse of a father anyway.” he snapped back. “I don't care for your reason. You're too late to pull this shit off, that's a fact!” Tossing the rag he had been using to clean his arrows with Connor abruptly stood and brushed the leaves off his pants before storming back to his tent to get changed, leaving his bow near the fire. He wasn't interested in the damned turkeys anymore, whatever good mood he had before his father decided to drop this bit of information on him had long since evaporated into nothing.

For a second he contemplated on calling his mother, to inform her... and to ask her... she wouldn't go through with it right? She would say no, because she too realized that it was too late? Because if they got married, then no doubt Ziio would move in with Haytham, and he... he would either have to follow or find a place for himself. The latter wasn't that bad but... he didn't want to leave the house yet. If he did he'd see his mother even less... but sharing a house with his dick of a father wasn't really an option either.

“Fuck...” Sighing deeply he sat down on his sleeping roll and pressed the balls of his palms against his eyes. Why couldn't life just give him a break for once? Ever since his father had shown up, things had gone down the drain.

-=-=-=-

Lousy excuse for a- oh that arrogant, seething, snarky little-

He slammed his own food down, the dull thud of aluminum hardly satisfying. No, no he wanted to break something but that _something_ had just ran away to go sulk in a tent! Seething, Haytham packed angrily, almost tripping over that damned bow. That boy left his belongings every-

… Well then, he rather liked that bow, didn't he? Picking up a discarded arrow Haytham smirked and located the quiver not far off. So what if he 'accidentaly' took the bow and lost the arrows and broke the damn thing? Or better yet, he could out hunt him.

Let his forlorn son cry of his inability to keep up with his father! He'd out hunt him with his own weapon. Granted, his experience was limited, but it was a bow. How difficult could operating one truly be?

Without a word he attached the quiver and walked towards the stream, deeper into the woods in hunt of the illusive turkey. Out gunned and over ruled...

It was so uncouth but, suck it Connor. Thinking it certainly cheered him up.

The trek was relatively short, maybe twenty five minutes deeper, and Haytham had little luck with the monstrous contraption known as this horrid little bow. Honestly, why not just use a shot gun or rifle? Still he was determined, the third turkey today out and about. His watch read 11:45, he could hunt turkey until noon.

Angling the arrow, he aimed, lips in a thin line, eyes narrowed in concentration. He'd make this shot count.

-=-=-=-

Connor took his sweet time getting redressed, with every intention on making his father wait for him. Too bad if he didn't like it, if he had a problem with that he could shove it up his fancy British ass. See if he cared!  
Grumbling and sputtering to himself he snatched a comb out of his bag and quickly combed his hair back, hissing at the knots and tangles that had gotten into it overnight, and tied it back into a ponytail.

“Now listen up you dick, I-” Connor froze, one foot outside the tent as he looked at their campsite, noting the distinct lack of snobby Brit. 

And his bow. It was gone.

It. Was. Gone.

Feeling his hands slowly clench into tight fists, Connor's dark brown eyes followed the trail of muddy footsteps disappearing into the forest, his anger bubbling close tot he surface. That bastard... that fucking good-for-nothing asshole had _dared_ to take _his stuff_ and run away with it? Oh _hell_ no!

Haytham's trail was easy to follow as Connor tore right through the forest, keeping a close eye on the footsteps that appeared here and there, sometimes deviating to the left or right. Anger and hate spurred him on, taking note of the occasional broken twig indicating that he was going in the right direction. How dare he? How dare he?!

That bow had cost him a fortune, he had saved up for over a year to buy it and he knew, just _knew_ that Haytham had little to no clue how to even wield it properly. If he damaged it, or even put a scratch on it, there would be hell to pay!

He was closing in on him now, and in his anger, blood roaring in his ears, he didn't notice the turkey sitting a few yards ahead from him. The same turkey Haytham had his eye on. Connor stormed through the bushes, the noise of branches and twigs snapping frightening the poor bird enough it flew off in a flurry of feathers, but Connor had no time to even register this as something slammed into his left shoulder barely a second later, with enough force to knock him backwards, He stumbled, eyes wide as he lost his footing and collapsed on his back on the forest floor with a grunt. The hell?! Had that damn bird actually flown right into him?

Coughing he slowly reached up to rub the back of his head where it had hit the ground, only to find he couldn't move his left arm. Frowning he opened his eyes and looked at his shoulder, staring right up at the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his shirt.

The shaft of one of his own arrows.

And that was when the pain hit, flaring out of his shoulder and spreading through his body, setting every nerve on fire. Choking on a pained gasp Connor curled up, his curses coming out muffled as he tried to breathe through the throbbing, white hot pain in shoulder. Fuck! _FUCK!_ How could _this_ have happened? Any lower and it would have hit him in his lung!

“S-shit...” Gripping onto the arrow tightly he took a deep breath, swallowing back the tears that prickled in his eyes. Already he could feel blood begin to seep into his shirt... oh fuck this could be bad... it was his shoulder, not the worst place one could get hit but these arrows... what if it had nicked an artery? He could bleed out if it was removed and this far into the forest, there was no way... no way!

-=-=-=-

He hadn't even seen him standing there, too focused on the recently spooked turkey. The arrow zoomed past right before his eyes, his voice caught as he thought to yell 'Connor' far too late. The loud thud he made against the floor, against the thicket and brush completely floored him.

He was a man of instinct, for that he was grateful, his intuition and years of experience telling him plainly: do not panic.

He found it difficult to obey.

Curled in upon himself, Connor's bloodied fingers grasped the end of the arrow. His eyes misted in pain, and for once, Haytham could not comment. That had to hurt, it had to.

He dropped to his his knees, and let another instinct take over, one he hadn't used in sometime, in almost a decade. He still had a grasp for the basics...

"Connor, I need to see the injury." Licking his lips, Haytham tore off his jacket, removing the sweater underneath and took out his hunting knife to cut a long strip of material. "I need to see how... how bad it is." 

Close to his chest, and the boy was in a panic. And Haytham couldn't blame him for a second, voice growing softer as his son shook.

"Connor, I know it hurts. I know it does and I'm sorry, this isn't going to hurt any less. But I need to know if it went all the way through your shoulder before I prop you up." A pause, and he needed to remove the clothing, to see the wound, but was too wary to take a knife to the boy. He needed him to still somewhat.

"I've removed worse before." Granted, that was years ago, and did nothing to boost his own ego. The boy had his mother's eyes. And the looked at him, misted and reddened.

"Please."

-=-=-=-

Connor blinked rapidly, focusing on the blur that was his father through the haze of tears he refused to allow to fall. He was failing miserably. Ah... he had a fucking _arrow_ in his shoulder, he was entitled to cry. And to panic, of which he was doing a pretty good job at the moment.

Breathing hurt, pulling at the muscles in his shoulder each time he inhaled, and it was going too fast.

 _Calm down calm down calm down calmdowncalmdowncalmdown!_ Trying to slow his rapid breathing down Connor focused on his father's voice, soft and low and lacking the angry bite it held before, replaced by what sounded like genuine concern. Was that a sorry he had just heard? No... no, couldn't be. He was just hearing things now.

“You... _shot..._ me...” he wheezed and gritted his teeth through the pain as he tried to move. Nope, bad idea! It wasn't fair accusing Haytham like this, Connor knew he had been aiming for that stupid turkey. This was an accident, nothing more, but still... he shouldn't have taken his bow! Then this wouldn't have happened.

He fingers still held a death grip on the arrow, keeping it firmly in place to prevent Haytham from doing what needed to be done despite his better judgment... it hurt so bad already. Tears leaked down his eyes as he tried another deep breath, finally getting it slow and exhaled with a soft whimper before he focused his eyes on his father's face again.

A please... did he even know what he was doing? Then again, did he have a choice but to trust his father to do just that? “I... don't think it w-went all the way through...” he muttered and slowly forced himself to let go of the arrow, curling bloodied fingers into a fist. Hard to tell, it sure felt like it had.

-=-=-=-

A sigh accompanied Connor's first coherent thought. "Alright, good." He'd make sure just in case and carefully removed his son's jacket, inspecting the back; no, no hole. Taking his hunting knife he almost apologized for easily slicing through clothing, two layers of fabric tearing easily, far enough down so he could examine the wound. Carefully, he removed the layers from his son's shoulder, fingers pressing softly, making sure there was no exit wound, relieved when he found none to speak of. "I'm shifting you upright, bare with me." Small gasps and hisses, but Connor was pretty damn compliant. Haytham examined the arrow with a frown: no, his hunting knife couldn't cut through it, that was thick metal. Which meant...

Visually inspecting was the best he could do, recalling arteries from memory alone. Clearly he hadn't hit one, he bled but not profusely... pulling it out, however, would hurt.

But there was little choice. He was confident it wouldn't nick an artery. It simply had to be done.

He simply took Connor's hand and placed one on his leg, meeting his sons eyes. "You'll want something to hold onto." He would give no other warning, Connor would certainly tense if he did.

Placing his hand on the wounded shoulder, he used his right to grip the arrow, offering a small nod. "A pleasant memory, think of one. That often helps."

He pulled quickly, pressure applied to Connor's shoulder as he tore him back open, the head of the arrow grazing all ready torn flesh a second time. Haytham did his best to ignore a scream, Connor's hand tight around his leg as he pulled until the arrow finally budged. He grit his teeth, the arrow coming out of Connor steadily until Haytham pulled it free, and blood flowed in a steady stream down his arm.

"Alright, done." Ignoring the residual sobs, he offhandedly wiped his son's face. "That was the worst of it. I'm going to slow the bleeding, just a moment." Connor's hand tensed on his leg, Haytham not bothering to mention it. None of it would be mentioned- the sobs, the crying- no, he'd take it to the grave. He'd seen men cry over less and Connor was hardly more than a lad.

Wrapping his own cut shirt around the wound, Haytham moved to lift him, only to receive an angry glare, one that made him frown and roll his eyes.

"I understand I shot you, you're entitled to be upset. But you won't be able to walk back to camp." He left his face blank, though his eyes held no threat. "I have blood stop, gauze, bandages, stitches. And pain killers." He allowed himself a small smile. "Getting there faster is more beneficial."

-=-=-=-

Connor was given little time to even conjure up a happy memory; his fingers dug into Haytham's thigh as his father began pulling the arrow out of his shoulder, sure to leave a angry, hand shaped bruise later on. He couldn't bite back the scream, every nerve on fire as the sharp metal of the arrow tip grazed already torn muscle, the wound beginning to bleed faster now that it was no longer being plugged.

Connor flopped forward against his father's chest as it finally pulled out all the way, his wheezed breathing shaky and pained.  
He sat as still as he could as Haytham bound his shoulder, guiding his hand to press against it to keep pressure on the wound. Connor kept his head down, embarrassed to be seen crying and whimpering in front of his father despite knowing that it was nothing to be embarrassed about, and certainly not in a situation like this.

Only when Haytham moved to pick him did he shoot him a glare, narrowing his eyes at his father. “I can walk!” he snapped and pulled away from him. Christ, he had hit him in the shoulder, not the leg! Even so as Connor attempted to get onto his feet, grabbing a handful of brush to pull himself upright, he found that his legs were shaking too much to carry his weight, a combination of shock and blood loss no doubt. Sitting back down he cursed softly. He had little choice now, and this time he allowed his father to carefully pick him up, though he made a point to avoid meeting his eyes.

How were they gonna explain this to mom? Why had he taken his bow without permission in the first place? “You have some explaining to do. Right now.” he muttered and removed his hand, looking at his bloodied palm and fingers before pressing it against the make-shift bandages again. He couldn't tell if the bleeding was lessening but at least it wasn't getting any worse.

-=-=-=-

A fawn, struggling to take its first steps. That was the only way to adequately explain his son's look. 

He wasn't so much gentle as he was careful, shifting Connor until his unharmed right shoulder pressed against his chest. Bridal style carrying was his best option, and he pointedly avoided his sons gaze, at the question but secretly intrigued. A painful wound and blood loss and the lad _still_ managed to question him. It was as frustrating as it was amusing.

"It's a wonder no one's taken a cane nor hand to your backside." His grip tightened around Connor as he took off in the direction of camp; there were medical supplies there, enough to at least hold Connor over if he need more serious medical care. He sighed. He could feel the irritated glare, and glanced downward. He had to look away. Must the boy give him the same looks his mother did? 

He said nothing for some time, contemplating his answer as they approached camp.

He'd never been happier that his son's anger influenced his lack-of-sense; the equipment lay strewn about the floor, luckily devoid of predators. Setting him down against the thick tree, he went about gathering his supplies, alcohol, painkillers, and a hooked needle pre-attached to thread amongst them. 

He set to work almost immediately, removing the makeshift bandages steadily and peeled off the final bloodied layer. He sighed in relief, the bleeding nothing more then a very slow ooze now. 

"Take these, with this." The rest of his cookies, water, and two tablets of Vicodin, acquired from his damnable skiing experience in the Alps. He could wait for the pain killers to kick in before starting, now that the bleeding slowed.

Sitting in front of his son, Haytham couldn't help but chuckle, just for a moment. His reasoning seemed foolish now but... "To out hunt you." A murmur as he tied off the thread, readying gauze and dripping alcohol onto a few pads. "To prove a point." Steel grey, his eyes enveloped the color as he took the ring from his pocket and dropped it to the floor. 

"It's of no importance any longer." The first cotton pad marked Connor's shoulder, Haytham halting at the hiss but continuing as dried blood disappeared, venturing downward to wipe the crusting substance from his chest and stomach next. Remarkably missing scars, what a lucky lad. 

Readying his needle, he asked if only because it was customary. "Pain killers working?" The bleeding had stopped, he could quickly stitch him and they could be on their way. Connor to his mother, and Haytham to his collection of wine. 

-=-=-=-

Connor didn't bothered to grace that with an answer and simply tried to enjoy the fact that he didn't have to walk back. As he sat down against the tree and Haytham went to gather his medical supplies, he checked his wound again; the makeshift bandages were nearly black with blood but he knew that it probably looked worse than it really was.

Could have been a lot worse though, he realized that he had been insanely lucky just now. A few inches lower and that arrow would have pierced a lung. A few inches to the right and it would have penetrated his throat instead.  
So all in all, this wasn't even all that bad. Hurt like a fucker, yes, and bled like one too, but other than leaving a scar it wouldn't have any impact on his health.

He eyed the Vicodin, wondering why the hell Haytham was even carrying it with him and instantly tried to banish the mental images of his father wearing the white coat of a surgeon while leaning on a pimped out walking stick, scaring the crap out of the people who worked under him. Actually, that was pretty accurate anyway if you left out the pimp cane. “Yes, Dr. House.” he smirked and popped the two tablets into his mouth, swallowing them with the water.

Connor stayed silent as his father began cleaning up the wood with alcohol, which stung like a mother-fucker, and ran it down his chest and abdomen to remove the last traces of dried blood. It was... weird, sitting in front of him, nearly shirtless with him wiping down his abs. Weird like whoa. It was almost surreal. He cursed himself inwardly for blushing at least a little, which made it even more weird because this was his goddamn father of all people, and while he was not an ugly man for someone his age, it was still... still...

“Yeah. They're working.” he answered, his voice sounding a little strained and Connor realized he had actually been holding his breath. Slowly releasing it he leaned his head back against the tree, not looking at the needle. “Looking forward to see how you're gonna explain this to my mom. You shouldn't have taken my bow, especially if you don't even know how to properly wield it. Sure looked like you didn't.”

-=-=-=-

Dr. House, huh? Pft, hardly. Connor needn't know the reason why he carried Vicodin around, it wasn't necessary.

He didn't need to be told they were working; the flush said volumes. He said nothing, simply continuing. Vicodin made people react in interesting ways, it was hardly worth mentioning.

He did, however, respond to the last jab, carefully inserting the needle through skin before pulling somewhat tightly. Blessed with his mothers completion and his own build, the best of both worlds. "There's nothing to be said. We argued. I took your weapon. I shot you accidental. I patched you up." It wasn't much of a big deal. The glinting ring by his side spoke differently, and he frowned.

"It's for the best." It was said more to himself than Connor. Haytham continued stitching, reaching nine before he was completed. He worried his teeth, the thread splitting as he bit down, spitting the spare bit to the floor before swiping a pad over the area one last time. "I've a sling in the car." Placing an adhesive bandage over it, he added the wrapping as an extra deterrent, to keep Connor from moving. The lad seemed like he needed an extra deterrent.

There was nothing left to do but pack, and he could do that alone. Taking one last look at the ring, his shoulders hunched, but he said nothing of the topic and took down the tent. Hollow, like an empty shell- he went through every motion without feeling a thing. This wasn't what he envisioned, yet again, this is what would happen.

"Be sure to clean it daily, it'll get infected otherwise." He couldn't even meet Connor's eyes. This couldn't have gone worse, the entire vacation.

He wasn't acquainted with the feeling of hopelessness, but its bitterness left it's mark openly.

-=-=-=-

Connor tensed just slightly as he saw Haytham bring the needle forward out of his peripheral vision, but thanks to the quick working Vicodin he barely felt it.

His father finished quickly and redressed the stitched up area with fresh strips of cloth cut from his own shirt, and then left to go pack up their camp, since Connor would be pretty useless at stripping down the tent with only one hand.

It was difficult not to notice the sudden mechanical moves of his father though, almost as if he wasn't even... there. Like his mind was somewhere else. His dark brown eyes drifted down to the ring lying forgotten in the dirt, the gleaming metal and small gems catching the rays of the sun that filtered down through the canopy. Seemed like he really was serious about proposing if he even got the ring already, and now... now what? He was dropping it? 

Chickening out?

For what, for shooting him? He had said so himself, it had been an accident. He didn't want Haytham to marry his mom, he really didn't but... for the same reason he was putting up with his father now and on their bi-weekly lunches, he was willing to put up their marriage for one reason only; his mother's happiness. That was everything and all-important.

What if marriage was exactly with mother was hoping for? What if she didn't get it because Haytham was already running scared?

“Hey!” Picking up the ring he held it up between his fingers and waited until Haytham turned around. “You're taking this with you.” He wasn't giving his father any chance to butt in, and carefully stood up, relieved when he managed to keep standing, and made his way over to his father, jutting the ring in his face. “Don't get me wrong, I don't _want_ you to marry her. And if you propose and she says no, I'll be celebrating. But,” he held the ring up a little higher and lowered his eyebrows into an irritated frown. “But... if she says yes then I will not get in the way of the wedding. I will accept it. I'm putting up with you because that makes her happy and because I know that _you_ make _her_ happy. I hate to say this, but don't you fucking go chicken on this in case this is what she truly wants. Take the damn ring and ask her before I change my mind and toss it in the stream. Unless you rather I'll be selfish right now...?”

-=-=-=-

He'd just do without. It wasn't like they need be married, they were together. Besides she was sort of a new age woman, it was doubtful she'd conform to marriage. It would overburden her, somehow promote misogyny, no no. He'd have none of it. This was better, their relationship the way it was. Clearly. Surely.

He tensed at the sudden movement Connor made, brows furrowing as his son shoved the ring into his face, holding it betwixt fingers.

He said nothing, simply snatching it from Connor's hand and re pocketing it, hesitating, before going back to work. Folding up the tent, gathering the pots... all before saying 'thank you'.

And meaning it, deeply. He sought the eyes of the woman he loved, finding them on a different face but softening just for a moment, the tiniest of smiles tugging at his face.

It fled just as quickly, Haytham finishing packing, fit enough to carry the equipment himself. He felt suddenly eager to get home, to Ziio. Very eager indeed.

~*~

The drive back was as quiet as expected, the look on Ziio's face as they explained bits of the accident (and left certain points out) to be expected. A mix between angry, shocked, saddened, and then amusement... or at least the beginning of amusement as Haytham suggested Connor injure her on their next hunting escapade. The cycle of family hunting accidents would then be complete.

It took a while before Connor disappeared. Ziio invited Haytham into her room, to watch a movie in private. Or something like that.

In between nips and kisses, ones that lingered as they took their time, side by side, Ziio halted briefly. "Honestly, care to tell me what _really_ made you take his bow?"

"I already did-"

"The competitive spirit of the forest made you both switch weaponry, resulting in an accidental blow to his left shoulder as you competed shot for shot to hit wild turkeys."

He blinked, shrugging. "Well if you say anything with _that_ tone it's bound to sound false."

"Uh huh."

He didn't bother to argue, and rested his elbow by the head of the bed, leaning casually on his side. His hand held his chin as he smiled down at her, Ziio meeting his gaze for a moment.

"What are you hiding Haytham?"

"My undying affection in some form or another." It was said so dryly she almost snorted, rolling her eyes and settling comfortably against their -er, her bed. "Oh? What form does your 'affection' take? A dozen roses and a box of chocolates?" She dead panned immediately after she said it. "I'll take a rifle and Jeep Cherokee."

"How about a ring?" 

She scoffed, and Haytham casually reached into his pants and holding his palm out. Ziio rolling her eyes at first, and then looked at Haytham, who seemed as collected as ever. Then the ring. Then back again.

"No way."

"… Oh. Alright then." He closed his palm but she stopped him shaking her head. 

"No, you douche, not to you! I mean... no fucking way, as in..." Another look at the ring and she looked back at Haytham. "Are you serious? Oh my god, you're serious!"

"… Why in the hell would I _joke_ about this?"

"Because you're a douche! Holy shit. I'm going to be Mrs. Kenway. Holy shit."

Again he tilted his head. "So, that's a yes the-"

Her tongue was down his throat before he could finish the statement, his ruined shirt almost torn from his body, his hands working to keep up with hers. He didn't mind, not in the slightest.

Not even when Connor threatened to move out about three hours later after round four.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is; the chapter with the first Big Plot Point. Having said that, the warnings for this chapter are **violence, possible disturbing scenes, major character death, angst, mentions of racism and incestuous scenes!** (though the latter shouldn't be much of a problem because you know that this is a HayCon story and if you didn't, what are you even doing here? XD)
> 
> I also finally added my partner in crime as an official co-author, as she finally made an account here.
> 
> *gives everyone a box of tissues* You may need it, we bawled while writing this *ahem*. As always, any typos are our own. Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: because of one tiny typo in a html tag during the scene in the hospital it actually cut off a chunk of post. I fixed it now, go re-read if you already thought it was odd.

Back and forth, back and forth. For hours, the two of them while he rubbed his temples. Perhaps the time length was an exaggeration but it felt like hours.

"This is absurd, Haytham. Positively absurd." Yipping at Charles heels was his dog, just as excitable as the man himself these days. Their friendship was once strong and quite mutual just some months ago. Now it withered, an infection, a phantom of its former self. How William remained so calm was beyond him, not just the demeanor but he was damned _polite._ How anyone could make death threats sound serious with a please and a thank you was lost on him, but William managed.

"Both of you, enough." Honestly, he knew what everyone would say; William, the nice and very much un-racist man should in fact be his first man, especially in spite of recent events. Or rather, in spite of Charles' actions. It was no secret, his feelings about Ziio, his feelings about Haytham purportedly beginning to abandon the company due to his recent trips and weekends off but the man had been his friend for decades, and a damned good one.

Yet the same could be said of William, his oldest friend (granted by maybe a day or two but still) co-founder, and the man adored Ziio, as well as Connor- the latter probably more so than Haytham himself. It... complicated things, greatly.

As did their completely different perspectives.

"He's given decades, twenty plus years of his life to making this company from scratch, the both of us have." William's arms remained crossed over his chest, and he spoke through his bared, somehow smiling teeth. "He deserves the happiness he was obliged to once leave."

"He does, yes. And his happiness lies here, in the people he's inspired. Not through some woman he chanced upon in the forest." Haytham's eyes narrowed, but Charles met his gaze head on. "I speak the truth, what everyone thinks but will not say."

"I haven't thought anything of the sort, but I'm not a bigot so there's that."

"This isn't about race, it's about principle!" Charles stomped his foot, voice a deep growl. "I'd be as angry if he abandoned the company for a Chinese, African, Mexican-"

"How about white, would that piss you off? A Caucasian woman?"

"Better than a forest dweller but yes-"

"And again, the bigot goes back to bigotry to support an argument, fancy that."

"My personal preference for Haytham isn't the point of this conversation! Could he do better? _Yes_ , absolutely. The point is his company- that he spent years building should come before the desire to fulfill the ache of some savage-"

"That savage is soon to be my _sister,_ you watch your god damned tongue before I cut it out and watch it permanently on a jar on my desk."

Again, the smile never faded from William's face, and Haytham wondered, offhandedly if he should get involved. Though William did quite a job defending his would-be sister Ziio. He couldn't have a truer 'brother', blood or otherwise.

"Between the two of you I don't know who's worse." Charles pointed to Johnson vehemently. "The co-founder who can't maintain a business properly and keep his partner in check or you, Haytham, once again living between two worlds and obligated to none."

"I've my obligations, Charles, to both my company and my family." For the first time in sometime Haytham studying both men sharply. "I've quite had enough of the accusations. I am able to devote time equally amongst the both without the childish squabbling amongst my council. If you truly cared, perhaps my mind would be at ease if I could leave for one weekend without my inbox being full of messages about fellow employee incompetence."

"Perhaps if their leader was more competent-"

"Careful, _Charles_." The lingering, looming danger that was Haytham towered over Charles, body arched and angled in nothing short of his military demeanor. A sure fire sign that showed he was pissed. "Insult me again, and it may be the last time you do while employed here."

-=-=-=-

A soft 'ahum' came from the doorway and the three men turned around, and three very different pairs of eyes – one set frustrated, another furious and the last one twinkling – settled on the young man standing with his hand on the doorknob, his expression screaming 'uncomfortable'. Connor shifted on his feet as he glanced from one face to the next. “Er... am I interrupting?”

“Connor!” William beamed as he quickly walked over to him and clapped him on his back. “Of course not! Come in, we were just talking. How is your shoulder?”

“It's good, thanks.” he answered as William nearly dragged him towards the others. It had been a month since the semi-disastrous hunting trip with his father. Ziio had dragged him to the hospital the next day to get his shoulder checked out, not that she didn't trust Haytham's skills with a needle but she was a mother and that was what mothers did.   
The doctor who had checked him over though confirmed that the stitches were neat and the wound was clean, with no signs of infection, and that he would heal fine.

And heal fine it had, though it had left a scar behind. Of course that was to be expected, and it wasn't even all that intrusive. Still, call him vain but Connor didn't like scars. 

“I'm glad to hear!” William said as Connor rubbed his fingers over his shoulder, feeling the small rough patch of scar tissue through the material of his shirt. “Charles was just telling us how delighted he was to hear the news!”

“What news?” he asked as he glanced at Charles, who looked everything but delighted; it was surprising his face hadn't gotten stuck like that.

“Why, the wedding of course! Wonderful news indeed!”

Oh right yes, the wedding. Duh. “Yeah. Anyway.” The wedding was the last thing he wanted to talk about now. Removing his bag from his shoulder Connor set it down on a table and zipped it open, removing a plastic container. Ziio often made extra when cooking dinner lately, and every few days Connor was sent out to the Corporation to give his father his share. This time it was lasagna, and he ignored how Charles scoffed as he handed it to Haytham. “What?”

“You don't really think he's going to eat _that,_ do you?” Charles asked and vaguely gestured at the box, as Connor frowned.

“Why wouldn't he?”

“Because! Haytham can get, and _do_ much better than whatever your mother cooks up.”

Er... okay? What had crawled up his ass and died there? “Right, well...” Picking up his bag Connor slung it over his shoulder and brushed a few stubborn strands of black hair out of his face. “It's not really any of my concern if he throws it away or eats it, and honestly, Mr. Lee, it's not any of your concern either. She didn't make it for you, so keep it to yourself. Bye now.” Turning towards the door, feeling strangely pleased with himself, he barely made it five steps before he was called back, William putting his hand on Charles' shoulder, who looked ready to burst.

“Just a second, Connor, if I may.”

Ugh, now what? “Yes?”

“It's your birthday soon, isn't it?”

Connor's eyebrows shot up in surprise. How did Johnson know that? He was positive that not even Haytham knew when his birthday was. “Tomorrow, actually.”

“Ah! Congratulations then!”

“Thanks.” he answered, and quickly shot his father a sideways glance to gauge his reaction.

“How old?” William continued and he shrugged.

“Twenty-one.”

“Aha! You'll become a man tomorrow!”

Slowly blinking Connor turned his eyes back to Johnson, eyebrows furrowing; what, so... he wasn't a man now, was that what he was saying? 

William must have noticed the change in his expression and quickly raised his hands. “I didn't mean it like that, lad. You know that right?”

“Yeah.” Sure, whatever. Could he go now?

“Any plans for tomorrow?”

“No, tomorrow is Saturday, I couldn't get the day off from work, so mom and I will be going to Boston tonight to visit some friends.”

“Ah, that sounds nice. I hope you have a good time.”

“Yeah, thanks. Er... I have to go.”

“Of course, don't let me keep you. Good day, Connor.”

Nodding his thanks at William Connor glanced at Charles, who looked like he wanted to wrap his greasy fingers around his throat and _squeeze,_ and then offered a quick nod and a soft 'Bye dad.' to Haytham before leaving, closing the door behind him. 

-=-=-=-

For once, his son had perfect damn timing. He'd offer him a chair and cookies, perhaps tea, anything to stop the ongoing migraine's worth of horror unleashed on his poor, aching head.

That and there was lasagna, something he hadn't had in quite sometime. Strange how even a plain, slightly warped plastic container now calmed him in the worst of moods. Of course Charles would say something to irritate him. Though he secretly appreciated Connor's quiet rebuttal, a boot to the head was readily deserved.

And William... his kiss ass 'brother' as it were. He almost snorted at his twinkling, overly kind eyes and exuberant demeanor, biting his tongue. Christ man, have your own children if you like them so much. He'd offer Connor to him but Ziio would probably be less appreciative of the gesture.

"Bye." He mouthed it gently, hand over his container of food, almost protectively. "Charles, I will not say this again. I can separate my time equally between the company's needs and my family's. It's of no concern of yours, whom I take in matrimony, to bed, or otherwise. It doesn't affect the work I produce."

"Haytham-"

"I'll hear nothing more of it, not today. Out, until something other than hatred flies from your mouth." Charles did in fact leave, only after glaring down William, picking up his dog and angrily skirting off. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Haytham sighed. "… How'd you know it was Connor's birthday?"

"He's to be my nephew, I take interest in such things."

As much as he longed to accuse him of being a kiss ass, he meant it.

"… it's very best man material of me."

… and they were back to that.

"Alright, alright fine. I suppose if you want the title that bad..." He ignored the shit eating grin and made a vague knighting gesture, followed by a vague sign of the cross, William muttering. "Spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch, am I being knighted?"

"I hate you, so very much."

"Duly noted, brother from a separate womb." 

He rolled his eyes at the jibe, allowing an arm to encompass his shoulders as he was lead away, presumably to the laboratory in which he was pulled. Perhaps Charles would come around, he rather liked both men for their own, separate individual qualities.

-=-=-=-

Sam Adams had been a friend of him and Ziio for many years now. Connor couldn't quite remember how they had met in the first place, as he had still been too young. They didn't get to visit each other often as Sam was often away on business trips for the company he worked for, but he was back home with his family in Boston now and had invited them over for Connor's birthday.

And it had been great! Sam had gone all out. His wife had baked a huge cake and his little four-year-old daughter had drawn him a picture – of him as a stick figure but it was the thought that counted, and she was really cute – following him through the house all evening, calling him 'big brudder' and eventually falling asleep in his lap, curled up against his chest.

It had been a great evening and he had been sad to leave.

“You had a good time then?” Ziio asked as they drove the Mustang towards home, back to New York. It was a little past midnight and they were the only ones on the long, elevated road, swindling for miles with dark forest on either side.  
Connor looked up from the iPad Sam had given him and flashed his mother a wide grin. “Yeah it was great!”

“Oh good, I'm glad. Sabrina adored you.”

“Yeah she kept calling me 'big brother', heh.” Cute.

Ziio's smile widened. “You'd be a good big brother.” she said and Connor blinked at her, but she didn't elaborate so he shrugged the odd comment off and instead looked in the rear view mirror. 

“That car has been following us for a while.” he muttered and Ziio glanced into the mirror as well before shrugged. 

“I guess they're not in a hurry, whoever they are.” she answered lightly, but Connor kept his eyes on the reflected lights of the car behind them. Odd... there was no one else on the road and there was plenty of space to pass them... so why stay behind? He could see the silhouettes of two people in the car. Meh, whatever, he thought and turned his attention on his iPad again, skipping through the manual quickly.

A few minutes passed, the other car still right behind them until it finally started to speed up. Connor watched it happen in the mirror, and frowned as the car matched their speed as it pulled up alongside of them. “What is he doing?” he muttered and leaned forward, squinting his eyes past his mother's profile to look at the driver, but it was too dark to make out any clear features. “What is his problem? What an asshole. Just-” Reaching out he pressed the button at the center of the wheel, the car's horn almost too loud in the silence of the forest at night, and Ziio quickly batted his hand away.

“Connor!”

“Look, they're opening the window.”

“Oh, now you've done it.”

Indeed, the glass of the car door window was going down on the passenger's side, but whoever was driving made no sign that they should slow down. “What do they want? What-” Narrowing his eyes Connor watched how the figure closest to them seemed to point something in their direction, the other person continuing to match their speed, until his hand stuck out of the car door window, and with it, the gun he was holding.

Brown eyes widened, and Connor just had enough time to yell “Mom!” before a flash, following by a loud explosion in their front left wheel sent their car lunging sideways, the force of it hard enough Ziio lost control over the wheel.

“Connor!” she screamed and he made a grab for the steering wheel as the other car sped up and zoomed away, but it was already too late; out of control with one wheel blown up the car tumbled off the elevated road, rolling down into the forest below, flattening brushes and thicket until it crashed against a tree.

~*~

Something was burning. And dripping.

And everything hurt.

An orange glow filtered through his closed eyelids as Connor slowly came to his senses with a loud beep in his ears, the taste of blood heavy in his mouth and his nose filling with the smell of oil and fire and burning rubber and... “Mom...?” His voice cracked as he opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to clear his blurred vision and reached up to cradle his forehead. His head was _pounding_ and as he lowered his hand again it came back bloody.

He was still in the car and something heavy dug into his hips and abdomen; glancing down Connor stared at the thick branch of a tree, glass littering his seat and the floor all around him, as well as the shattered remains of his iPad; it must have smashed through the windshield and hit him, which explained the horrible pain in his chest every time he breathed in and now it kept him pinned in place. The muscles of his right thigh were screaming in pain as the heavy wood flattened them.

“Mom?” he asked again and closed his eyes briefly... thinking was hard. What had happened? There had been a car...? And... a flash... he remembered a flash... and...

“Connor...”

Brown eyes snapped open and a wave of nausea hit him as he turned his head to look at her. Thank god, she was alive! Bleeding and pinned down underneath a thicker part of the branch, but alive “Mom!”

“Connor... the flames...”

Blinking he turned his attention to the hood of the car, eyes widening as he finally caught sight of the flames rising from the left side of the car, where the wheel had been. The Mustang was a mess, dented and scratched from its violent fall from the road into the forest, and something must have burst inside as he could see the glimmer of oil everywhere.

And it enabled the fire to spread out over the car rapidly. They had to get out of here! “W-wait, let me...” Gripping the branch with both hands he tried to push it away, to lift it enough for them to slip out underneath but it was heavy, almost too heavy; his lips pulled back, showing bloodied teeth tightly clenched together as he put all his strength into lifting it, but he hurt too much. He must have cracked a few ribs... it wasn't enough. He had to let go and the branch fell down a few inches again, on top of the injuries he already had.

“Connor...”

“N-no, I can d-do this!”

“Connor!”

The clear panic in Ziio's voice made him look up again; the flames had reached her side now and she was leaning as far away from them as she could, eyes wide in fear but it wasn't enough; the horrible sound she made as the flames began to trickle their way up her sleeve rapidly, burning away the material and her skin underneath tore right through him.

“C-connor, you have to _go!_ ”

“I can't leave you here!” He shook his head, staring mortified at the flames which had had already reached her shoulder and began spreading out over her blouse.

“Connor, _please!_ ” Pain and desperation laced her voice as she reached out, fighting through the agony of her trapped arm burning, and touched Connor's cheek with her free hand. Tears welled in her eyes, matched by the tears already trickling down from his own, as she fought to keep her voice steady, to remain strong for her son. “I can't get out, Connor. The car is going to explode soon. You m-must leave.”

“Now w-without you!”

“It's too late for that!” She screamed then, the flames eating their way up her braids. “Please g-go, son! G-get out, f-find help..!”

Connor sat frozen in place for a few more seconds, his heart pounding erratically in his chest as the image of his mother burning alive seared itself into his brain, before he suddenly moved. Managing to lift the heavy branch just enough to shimmy his way underneath he wrenched the damaged door open enough to worm his way through, and fell down on the wet forest floor next to the car.

His injured leg barely supported his weight and his ribs felt like they were being torn apart with how fast he was breathing, too fast, but still he ran, adrenaline spurring him on as the agonized screams of Ziio followed him. Clambering his way up a nearby hill, grabbing bushes and tree roots to pull himself along he stopped and turned, breathless, panicked, desperate and staring at the burning vehicle that still held his mother, barely fifteen feet away from him.

He saw it as if it happened in slow motion; the bright flash as the car finally succumbed to the flames, the way the metal seemed to curl in on itself before bending outwards as a ball of fire erupted from the engine. He was still close by enough that the force of the explosion knocked him off his feet and sent him reeling back against the forest ground with a hard thud. The last thing that flashed through his mind before he lost himself to unconsciousness was that there was no way... no way his mother could have survived that.

-=-=-=-

The clamor and hum of sirens, fire engines, police cars, ambulances at the scene. It had taken well over a half hour to control the blaze, part of the nearby forest catching fire. A news helicopter, Chopper 9 had flown by the clearing for a simple traffic report, the call of smoke immediately alerting of sinister events.

The smell of burnt flesh mixed with petroleum, an odor pungent and stagnant in the night. The boy, Connor- that's what his I.D. read- was placed on the gurney, unconscious and unmoving, save a twitch or cough. One officer searched his pockets, retrieving a cell phone, and dialed the first number it could; labeled mom.

No response, no ring, no dial tone. A rookie heaved and gagged as the door of the fizzled car was finally wrenched open, showing the trapped remains of what had once been a person.

Another look and there was one other number to try, a more veteran police officer handling the situation- a sergeant, one that would follow the ambulance to the hospital. He was a father too, after all. What a shame, poor kid.

Haytham practically swatted the phone away, typing infuriatingly quickly. Chewing on his last piece of lasagna with a satisfied hum, he took a peek at his phone, eyebrow raised as he saw Connor's number flash on the screen. Oh, he should probably have wished him a happy birthday, shouldn't he? He doubted that was why the boy called, and he almost let it go through to voice-mail... but thought against it. No good making Ziio angry at him now, not when she was cooking for him again. He missed her cooking something awful.

"Yes?" Car doors slamming and sirens, the commotion in the background was loud enough for him to hear and his eyes narrowed. "Connor, lower the television, you'll go deaf."

_"Is this..."_ The officer blinked at the name under 'contacts' again. No, there was no way this could be right... but he had seen the kid's name on his I.D. and it matched. _"… Haytham Kenway?"_

A pause and he raised his eyebrows, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who did he punch this time?" Guess it would be up to him to bail him out now...

_"No, sir, this is Seargant Betterly with the New Haven Police Department. There's an emergency."_

"Again, I will post bail for the boy-"

_"No, sir, there's been an accident."_

He finally paused, listening to the commotion. An accident? Wasn't Ziio...? "Are they alright?" The first cautious question, Haytham's fork hitting his container with a clatter, and the officer cleared his throat. 

_"I can't reveal any information over the phone, sir. You'll have to come to the New Haven Hospital-"_

"The New Haven Hospital?" In a bare whisper, and already he was dressing, grabbing his jacket and saving his work for later, running out of the laboratory with his cell phone in hand. "I- Ziio. Is Ziio alright? And my son?"

_"Would this... Diio-"_

"Ziio, Z-I-I-O, not Diio."

_"Right, sorry, would this Ziio happen to be the boy's..."_

"Mother, Connor's mother. She should be with him!" He paused, panic subsiding. "Is she not there? Was he out joy riding?" Oh he'd have his _head_ for making his mother worry. Connor should know-

_"Positive I.D. on the body, it's the boy's mom, copy, over."_

Time stopped. Keys fell from his fingers as time just _stopped._ "Body?" Whispered into nothingness, the voice speaking to him cleared it's throat. "Where the hell is Ziio?"

_"Sir, please remain calm, there's no need for-"_

"One of your idiot dispatchers just said the BODY has been identified, don't you fucking tell me to remain calm!" Static and the sound of sirens, and Haytham was in his car, driving, phone on speaker as he prompted and prodded, but the man would say nothing, merely guiding him to the New Haven hospital in Connecticut. He would not let dread over take him, not now. Ziio carried identification- there was clearly a misunderstanding. Some nameless person without I.D., perhaps a friend of Connor's. As horrible as it was for that person, the better it was for them!

~*~

An hour and a half of straight driving, of walking into the E.R., of stares from those who recognized him by face or name- he ignored it all, every last bit of it before finally coming into contact with an officer. "I'm looking for my wife."

The man stammered, clearly shocked. "H-Haytham Kenway?"

"No, the other man talking." He would mow them all down in a blaze if it meant reaching her. "My wife- to be wife- and son are both here. Connor and Ziio Kenway." She'd changed her name early, it was inevitable anyway.

A secretary clacked away, agitation making its mark so clearly. "Connor is in room 3A, in stable condition." 

Alright, the lad yes, He was in stable, he was fine. Great. "And my wife?"

A pause, and they looked to one another, tumultuous, stormy eyes missing nothing. "I demand to see my wife."

"Mr. Kenway."

" _Now._ "

"Sir, it's best you don't-"

His face was inches from the secretary's, eyes narrowed to near slits as he spat venom. "It's best you _send_ me to where she is before I tie up this hospital in so much litigation you will be unable to locate your arse from your elbow, you _stupid_ -"

"Mr. Kenway, that's enough." A heady glare and he stared into the face of... he wanted to say doctor, but no. No that wasn't right. He wore scrubs but they reeked of something very different, something stagnant and burnt, and Haytham found himself fighting to remain calm. Mask in place, he stepped forward, said man leading him into the barren recesses of a colder part of the hospital, one Haytham was acquainted with only when necessary.

Outside the room, and it touched him with the same warmth as the chilled air kissing his face. "I'm sorry for your loss."

He steeled himself, bore himself for the worst... only to witness a bloodied sheet, twisted. The smell was repugnant, of charred remains, of hair and flesh, of seared nothingness.

No... they must be mistaken. A step forward, but he was stopped. "I want to see her."

"You really don't."

"Oh, I really, _do_." It wasn't her. There was no proof, there was no way. Just a flaming mound of flesh under a bloodied rag of a blanket. There was no proof, there was nothingness. He'd seen corpses before, this would be no different-

Except it wasn't just a corpse.

His nose wasn't prepared for the smell, hitting him far quicker than the sight itself. A jaw opened, teeth revealed around the blackened, smoked skin of what once was a face. No nose to be had, just two points were nostrils were, all hair singed save a small handful that may have lay against the back of the car seat, beads and a charred feather-

No.

No, no, no. Another step closer and he shoved the bile down. Another, and he hid his tears well, even from himself, the crystalline sheen of his eyes showing briefly, only as they eyed the remains of what was, his eyes catching glimpse of the ring on her finger.

He couldn't look away, couldn't stop himself from touching the scarred hand, skin peeling away in shreds as he touched the ring on her finger. Silence, and he turned away, not from her, but from the man behind her. "I want an autopsy done." He sounded hoarse, even to himself.

"Sir, there's no need-"

"I'm paying for it, I want it DONE!"

Another labored breath, and he was winded, looking into what once had been a beautiful face, what was the face he had kissed goodbye a few days prior. "I just... I need it done. I need it done."

His eyes met the wall as his shoulders sank, the man nodding behind him, a small, 'yes, alright sir,' before departing, giving him a moment alone.

For the life of him, he had nothing to say. Even as a finger curled around the scorched flesh of her cheek, he could think of nothing but the truth.

"Good bye, Ziio."

This time, forever.

-=-=-=-

He awoke to the soft but steady beep-beep-beep of a heart rate monitor. Deep brown eyes, slightly glazed over and reddened, opening to stare up at the blindingly white ceiling of the room. The room smelled clean and the surface underneath him was soft, cushioning him, heavy blankets draped all the way up to his chest, and there was no pain.

There was... nothing.

He felt the soft scratch of clean bandages tightly wrapped around his chest and head. Slowly raising his hand he stared at the clip on his index finger, and the drip needle, a thin plastic tube attaching it to a transparent bag filled with fluids hanging on an steel hook. Next to it was a machine with a small screen, showing a green line which spiked every second or so, its beeping the only sound in the room.

He had been lucky, the doctors and nurses had said. Extremely lucky. Considering the extent of the accident, his injuries could have been a lot worse. Three broken ribs, a major concussion and severe bruising all over his body, especially where his left thigh attached to his hip; he was black and blue there, with the rough texture of the heavy branch's bark pressed into his skin. He'd be walking with crutches for a while. Smoke damage from inhaling too much of it, but that would fade with time. Miraculously, no burns. Lucky indeed.

He kept seeing it... in his mind's eye. The bright glow of the flames, the darkness of the forest that had surrounded them. The damage to the car and the way the branch had kept them both pinned. His mother... burning. Her agonized screams, he could still hear them, even now, echoing inside his head calling out for help, for him to go, to leave her behind.

The bright flash of the car exploding, taking everything away.

Moisture gathered in his eyes and quickly began to trickle down his face, disappearing in the strands of his hair until the pillow soaked them up. Connor did not bother to wipe the tears away, didn't scream, didn't struggle, didn't call out for someone, anyone, and demand answers.

He remained still, his only movements being those he couldn't stop... the trembling, the shaking as his breath hitched every time he breathed in until his grief threatened to overwhelm him.

His mother... his mother...!

He didn't even look up as he heard the door of his room open, not knowing who it was that came in and not caring either. It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore.

“She's gone, isn't she?” The question was no more than a whisper and he squeezed his eyes shut again, forcing more tears to dribble down his face. He already knew the answer to the question. How could he not?

He had seen her die.

-=-=-=-

3A.He repeated it again and again, as if he could forget it. The bleached white walls and smells of chemicals were of little comfort now. That used to be his solace; clean, white. All was tranquil, in places like his laboratory.

Rapidly his exterior hardened, chin in the air as he stalked in mechanical heel-toe manner. Connor would have questions, accusations- panic. He was that sort of a boy. Well, Haytham was prepared. Shields were up, at the defensive, hands clutched tightly behind his back, dress shoes clacking against the almost pristine floor. Right, to the lad, then to DNA, to figure what caused such a… mishap. Ziio wasn’t one for such things.

His throat dried at the very thought of her name, her voice an echo that plagued him and he shoved it aside, roughly pushing her from him. She was dead, that was _that._ Done, to be in the ground, dead. Nothing to save her, nothing to help, there was nothing more to think about and nothing more to do. He’d move _on._ He always did, and he always would. Now came the inquisition and questions from Connor, and his eyes blazed a furious mixture of gray and blue, waiting for the comment the moment he opened the door.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?”

And that little bit of resolve he built up on the way completely vanished.

Tattered, bloody, bruised- and with the eyes of his mother, eyes that shut and spilled tears the likes of which he’d never seen. From them to the braid, the feather and matching beads adorning his black hair. 

The last remaining piece, all he had left of what he dared to care for.

Adoration and hatred fought a battle at the very sight of her dearest son.

“… yes.” Hoarse as before, he grit his teeth and placed the stoic mask in place, carefully pacing the room, and lifted the chart from the bed. Damage to his thigh and connected hip, bruising and an internal sprain, fractured ribs, a concussion- a mess. Yet he was alive, would heal and live to see another sunrise. She was not.

There was no justice, no god peering over his begotten world and so _damn_ anyone who thought otherwise.

And still he could not conjure the question, could not ask what had happened. Instead, he fingered a tissue from the box he passed, holding it to his son wordlessly, looking away. Those damnable eyes.

“I’m sorry.” The air felt thicker, and he stared out the window, ignoring the sound a huff of breath made before he dug his own nails into his palms. Pathetic, Haytham. Act like a man damn it. This changed nothing, death was a part of life.

“… I ordered a few laboratory tests. They’ll be in shortly.” Eyes downcast and face out the window, so the world wouldn’t witness the shame he felt as his eyes stung. He could plainly see how she died, he didn’t want details. He only wanted… the impossible.

Instead he stood by the window, offering another tissue as his son cried onward. When he did face to meet him, fading red rimmed eyes were the only evidence of something awry. "What- how, did this happen?" He was fighting an almost loosing battle, eyes taking on that sheen but he fought hard, and long, throat constricting as he did. "What, what made this happen?" Did Connor even know?

-=-=-=-

“… yes.”

A whimper made its way out of his throat. He had known, but hearing it confirmed... It made it so... official.

Connor remained silent safe for the occasional sob and hiccup. He accepted the offered tissue but didn't use it, letting his tears form a wet patch on the pillow. What was he supposed to do now? Where could he go? Most students his age already lived in their own apartment, but he couldn't cough up the rent of their home alone, especially not with him in the hospital.

And his father... Haytham had stayed and kept contact because of mom, not because of him. No doubt he'd leave now, having lost the only person he truly cared about.

“We were... on our way home from Boston.” he began, his voice thick with tears. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. He couldn't look at his father, didn't want to see his expression. Surely, Haytham would have wanted for things to be the other way around, for her to live and for him to have died. If that was the case, then he didn't want to see the confirmation on his father's face.

“It was just us... and a second car behind us. They pulled up until they were alongside of us... I saw... I saw one of them turn down the window and... he had a g-gun.” Voice breaking on that last word Connor stopped and covered his face with his hand, muffling his sobs behind his palm as his shoulders shook. It took a full two minutes before he recovered enough to continue talking. “I c-couldn't see his or h-her face. I d-don't know who it was, or why they d-did it.”

Dropping his hand Connor furiously blinked up at the ceiling, blurred through his tears. “He shot the wheel... it exploded... our c-car tumbled down the road into the forest.” Another deep, shaky breath, as deep as he could with the bandages tight around his chest to keep his broken ribs in place. “A branch snapped off and slammed through the w-windshield, kept us pinned. The car was burning. I... tried to lift it b-but... s-she said that there was no t-time. Told me to get out. So I did... I ran and... a-and then the car exploded...”

Slowly turning his head Connor finally made eye contact with his father, desperation on his face, hoping... _praying_ that Haytham wouldn't put the blame on him. “I t-tried, dad. I'm sorry...” He had tried... to lift the branch high enough for both of them to get out... but the flames had spread too fast, her injuries already too great... there hadn't been time.

“Where... where is she?”

-=-=-=-

It wasn't even an accident, but murder. Someone flat out _murdered_ his Ziio. The third time in his life, someone else stole from him what was his. He wanted someone to blame, someone to be chased down, hunt and destroy, but unlike the two other times there was no one. Just Connor and himself.

"I t-tried, dad. I'm sorry..."

And even as he searched for someone to blame, the last person it would be was his son.

"If anybody cared for her as I did, it was you." Barely whispered, it wasn't a nicety but a truth. "There's no doubt in my mind, you did what you could." He had to turn away, his voice cracked loudly. His gaze set to the window once more, and he hesitated answering.

"I think it best that you don't see her." Gazing out the window for a moment longer, he felt it safe once more to turn around, to keep his own emotions at bay. "You're a man though, grown. If that is what you want, I will not stop you. But you need promise me this." And he looked square into eyes that teared constantly, Haytham's own a burning red, but he did his best to barely keep them at bay. 

"You can never blame yourself for this. Understand? This was murder, and it's very likely you were a target too. That you escaped... it's what... it's a positive. She would have wanted that... and I concur with the decision." Because for the pain in the arse he was, Connor was his son, his last piece of Ziio. Nothing could change that.

In the same moment he finally calmed himself and the attendee from before arrived, looking nothing short of sorry.

"Sir, Mr. Kenway, let me be the first to apologize for acting crudely." 

Haytham simply nodded. "Yes, well, I wasn't exactly pleasant myself-"

"Yes, but it's understandable, I hadn't realized you'd lost your wife and child." 

Confusion, completely unbridled confusion as he looked to Connor and back to the man he spoke to. "My child is right here."

"No, the unb-" It dawned on him then, as completely grey, utterly surprised eyes met his from across the room the hard, cold truth. Unfortunately for him, Haytham was far more perceptive than most, even in his current state.

What was left of steel resolve shattered into fragments upon the floor. He lost his footing, and crumpled under the weight of himself, falling to his knees besides Connor's bed. Eyes locked on the tile beneath him, his glimmering reflection seen in a distorted image, before he let out a noise that was neither yell nor scream, whimper nor cry.

Agony, blinding, searing _agony._

"… I'm s-so sorry, sir, I thought you knew..."

"Leave me. Leave us." Anger, nothing but searing hatred dripping from every word. His father, his sister, his wife and his _child._

"Sir..."

He rose so quickly it almost frightened himself, shoulders back and stance defensive, chin in the air as his face resumed not a blank mask, but a scowl, a grimace twisted in pain.

No words were needed as the door shut behind the man, Haytham's jaw set, lips twitching in the thin line he set them in. "… Did she tell you? Did you know?"

-=-=-=-

Connor quickly nodded. No, he wasn't going to blame himself, he knew better than that. It hadn't been his fault and he felt more than relieved that Haytham seemed to think the same. He also knew that he didn't want to see her... he had a pretty good idea of what it would look like and he'd rather not tarnish the memories he had of her.

He sank back into the pillows and closed his eyes again, finally beginning to calm down a little... or perhaps he was just too exhausted to keep the tears going. He sure felt exhausted and of course the pain killers they were pumping into him were doing their part as well in making him feel so.  
As much as he was willing to let himself doze off, and forget for just a moment, the door opened again and Connor blinked slowly, staring at the man who walked in. He... didn't look like a doctor. Not really anyway. And he carried a strange smell with him, one he had hoped to never smell again.

Fully awake again he slowly pushed himself up with a grunt, listening to the conversation with growing confusion. There was something odd about this conversation, like the man was telling them something they were supposed to already know. 

Then it hit.

Connor watched in shock as his father did something he had never done before; crumpling down in front of him, sinking down on his knees onto the floor. His father, who always held such a strong presence, who didn't let anyone walk over him, who always held the last word...

There was nothing he could say, even if he knew the right words as the man quickly scurried out of the room out of fear for Haytham's rage. Mom had been... pregnant?  
His fists clenched the white sheets as his brain tried to process the information, struggling to let it sink in. 

"… Did she tell you? Did you know?"

No... why? Why hadn't she told him? Why hadn't she told them? Had she... even known? “No, I didn't...” he muttered and frowned... wait, she _had_ known. That's why she- “Right before... _it_ happened, she said something weird. That I'd be a good big brother. I didn't understand it then, but...” But now it made sense.

Connor looked up again, staring at his father's turned back, and swallowed thickly. Where were they supposed to go from here? So much had happened... perhaps even too much. “Dad? What happens now?” Because he sure as hell didn't know anymore.

-=-=-=-

A secret then... though by the sound of what Connor relayed, a happy one. Perhaps it was meant to be a pleasant surprise in the near future. A child. Another child, one he could properly raise this time. He could be a father, an actual father like his own had been. A second son... or perhaps a little girl, with his own eyes and her smile. He'd never know. He was robbed of the chance.

Nails dug into his clenched fists, his anger only muting when the question Connor asked reached his ears. He would bare his rage later, his sorrow need be tucked away. He was still a... father, as odd as the word sounded to his own ears. He need be strong as his own father was.

He didn't falter, breathing deeply and formulating a plan slowly. "We bury her. We mourn. We move on to the best of our capabilities." A cycle for every time he lost someone, a mantra by now. Though, he understood what wasn't asked and shut his eyes.

"I've a spare bedroom or two." It wasn't an offer, it's what would be. He couldn't dare set foot in that house in New Rochelle. A constricting grip over his heart would simply not allow it. "Close to your school, to your job. Your mother would... want it that way." And in death, who was he to say no?

"Johnson will handle the press. We'll need to clarify rumor from truth, now." There's be no denying it any longer... "Myriam is free to stay whenever or how often she may like. I'll send someone for your things, alert your clan leader of the events... it's covered. All of it, I can handle." Terse and stern, it was as if nothing ever happened. It would be as if nothing ever happened.

"You need rest. Sleep." The clack of his shoes overrode the beeping machines with every clack. "This is nothing I haven't dealt with before."

-=-=-=-

… nothing he hadn't dealt with before? 

Connor frowned as he watched his father leave the room without another word and slowly laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling once more. This wasn't the first time he had lost someone then. He was handling this as if it was just another business transaction, cold and distant, no emotions, perhaps because... he had been through this before.

That definitely was something to ask about later. He knew next to nothing about his father's side of the family. He could ask, once... once this was over...

~*~

The next morning Sergeant Betterly met with him, telling him that he had overseen his transport to the hospital and had informed Haytham of what had happened, and that he was so sorry for their loss.  
He was nice, kind and patient, and when Betterly asked for details about what had happened Connor tried to give him as much as he could.

He couldn't answer the one question that mattered the most though; who? Who had done it? And for what reason? Betterly asked more questions. Did his family have enemies? Was there someone who held a grudge? Had their been a fight?

He didn't know.

After Betterly left, promising him to keep them up to date about the investigation, the doctor gave him one last check-up before discharging him from the hospital, telling him that he would heal fine with lots of rest. The bandages around his chest would have to be redone every day, at least until his ribs healed enough.

Myriam and Shaun were there, waiting for him as Connor limped towards the exit of the hospital with his father, using a pair of crutches to walk as the sprain in his hip still refused to bear his weight. Myriam was in tears, hugging him so carefully as if she was afraid he'd break into pieces if she used even a tiny bit of pressure, and nearly choked on her own words when she told Haytham how incredibly sorry she was.

No words were said between Connor and Shaun. There was no need to. There were there for him when he needed them, they always had been.

He desperately wanted to go back to New Rochelle, to soak up the memories, to grab his stuff and... and take Ziio's personal belongings for safe keeping, but Haytham blatantly refused and instead ensured him that he would have the house cleared out and everything inside brought to his own apartment. He could go over her things then. Much like he had said the day before, and Connor was too tired to go against it.

He had only been in Haytham's home a handful of times and he wondered if... if this would ever feel like a home to him as well. It was so different... and to think that only a few months ago they all had Christmas dinner at that table over there, and that he had nearly gotten into a fight with his father over the whole deal with the Mustang.

It seemed like such a petty thing now.

The room he had chosen for himself was the smaller one of the two available, and still it was bigger than the room he'd had in New Rochelle. It was big enough for him, with a large bed, plenty of storage, a desk and a nice view over the Atlantic.

It felt alien.

There was nothing to do but wait now, as he set the crutches against the wall and carefully sat down on the bed with a wince. The first chapter of this new life was going to be the hardest, having to adapt, everything completely turned upside down, the funeral in just a few days. Details about the accident was all over the news, the front page of the newspaper this morning showing a large photo of the burned out car. The press hadn't been informed yet about the whole father-son business and honestly Connor didn't want them to know. The last thing he wanted to deal with now was even more publicity.

He wanted to focus on the funeral, focus on his mourning and... focus on fixing his broken relationship with his father, because there was simply no avoiding it anymore.

-=-=-=-

The tomahawk with the one slit in the hilt. The one that scarred his very arm. Not a dress, but that taupe leather jacket with multi-colored beads dangling on the fringed ends, a plain white t shirt and blue jeans, coupled with her worn in brown faux leather boots.

Comfortable, everything screamed of Ziio, from the dream catcher earrings, miniatures of the larger stuffed hare's foot on her key chain. Her favorite Smith and Wesson gun and her bow completed her casket, the elder, a member of the bear clan clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"You've done right by her, Haytham. She could ask no more of you."

Nor would she, ever again. Nor would any of her clan, because this was the last time he stepped foot into upstate New York for as long as he lived.

He almost felt sorry for blatantly turning down Connor's request, but no. No let the hiring crew take care of it, he picked out what she'd wanted. The only belonging of hers he had sat in his passengers seat, to be delivered to Connor immediately. He hadn't even wanted to touch the damn thing.

William had been in contact, offering more than just a word of sympathy, all of which were accepted with cold nods. William understood, hell they all did, even Hickey and Church seemed more than apologetic, something that he appreciated and simultaneously despised. He didn't want sympathy, he wanted to be left alone.

It was all the harder to accept the apologies of Myriam, she was almost too sweet for her own good. It almost chipped his resolve.

Almost.

Funeral arrangements for the following day, the press conference for the one to follow, Haytham arrived home with twitching fingertips. He could smell her on the album, earthy, sandalwood and spice. He fought the urge to wash his hands.

"All packed. Your belongings will arrive shortly. This is yours now." Placing the bound photo album aside, he simply nodded, not an ounce of emotion portrayed. "I'm off to work then, acquaint yourself with menus, I don't have time to cook. Don't wait up. Invite Myriam and Shaun if you wish, everything is arranged. " Almost hurried, he ventured to walk away, content to drown his sorrow in laboratory experiments. "Until tomorrow, then.

-=-=-=-

Everything had been stuffed in boxes and delivered to Haytham's home. Connor went through it with an almost mechanical sense of duty, going over everything twice before distributing it over three piles; stuff that could be thrown away, his own things, and Ziio's personal belongings that had been of value to her.

He stared at the necklace in his hands, remembering that it had once been a gift from the clan to her. It was fairly simple; just a leather string with three large bear claws attached in the center, but Ziio had always been fond of it even though she rarely wore it. It was more an object that held meaning, instead of something to wear.  
Clicking his tongue he pulled the string over his head and glanced down, seeing the tips of the claws rest against his clothed chest. She wouldn't wear it. He would.

As promised Haytham took care of pretty much everything, leaving little for Connor to occupy himself with now that all the boxes had been categorized. For obvious reasons he couldn't go to work, and college had given him leave as well until he felt ready to come back again.

And of course Haytham was often gone most of the time, drowning himself in his work as that seemed to be his way to deal with what had happened.

So he called Shaun and Myriam instead. They came over as soon as they could, bringing whole bags of mountain dew and and various sorts of other unhealthy snacks and drinks and did their best to distract him. Myriam had brought her Xbox 360 with him, which they used to completely whoop Shaun's ass playing Left4Dead, and after wards they ordered pizza and watched movies on Haytham's huge flatscreen in the living room.

It helped, them being here, making him laugh and enjoy his time. It helped a lot.

Shaun went home a little after midnight, but when he asked Myriam if she could perhaps stay, she just smiled and nodded. There was nothing to talk about, he just needed the company, not wanting to be alone in a house that felt so alien with nothing but his thoughts and memories of that night to occupy him.

They gathered blankets and pillows from all around the rooms and built themselves a nest in front of the TV, and that's how Haytham would find them the next day, curled up close against each other, Connor's face tugged into Myriam's hair as she had her arms wrapped around him.

-=-=-=-

"Please Mr. Kenway, we'll do anything, just please-"

"Absolutely no excuses. I've enough of those as of late." Standing intimidating and tall, eyes narrowed into slits as he walked in front of each technician. "I've been absent, which has caused... what? The notion that slacking is _acceptable?_ The notion that such lackadaisical behavior is acceptable?"

"Sir, we merely forgot to clean a beaker-"

"Excuses, excuses, and more excuses. You have failed to do your jobs properly. Fired the four of you. Notices of resignation will be on my desk by noon. You have an hour."

Ignoring the teary protests and horrible pleas for reason, Haytham marched from the laboratory immediately, making his way into the lobby, past Wiliam finishing his press conference.

Immediately, a swarm of media were on his heels, Haytham holding his head high in the air. "Mr. Kenway, what's to say of your heir?"

"Twenty years of hiding him from the public view, what's the reasoning behind it?"

"Mr. Kenway, on behalf of channel 9, I'm sorry for your loss."

He did pause, briefly for that, meeting the eyes of the woman who offered apologies and simply nodding. Not a single word before he pulled into his car, driving the short distance to his home. Fourteen employees down, however many left to go. Such useless incompetence, amongst all of them, stupid errors that deserved their own individual termination.

He ignored William's texts, readying himself for the day ahead; the entirety of four days spent in his office, ignoring texts and calls from anyone. He only left now because he ran out of clean clothes. Into his home, he slipped the key in, walking straight into the living room.

It was a disaster. Mountain dew cans and candy everywhere, every blanket in the house save for the one on his own bed had been taken. Why? A gigantic pillow fort in the center of the living room, seating Connor and Myriam. So deeply entangled he could hardly tell whose limbs were whose save for the difference of skin tone.

And he wanted to hate the mess, the juvenile behavior. But instead, he recalled sandalwood and spice, the soft touches shared... and bit back the strain in his throat. He settled for slamming the door loudly, jostling them both.

"Connor, Myriam. Ceremony starts in two hours. Get ready... the mess can wait."

The first and only words he'd said in days, before he drifted toward the shower, readying for the final step in forgetting Ziio.

He could move on then. Or at least pretend he had.

-=-=-=-

They both awoke at once, Connor with an odd, low grunt and Myriam with a high pitched 'eek'. She quickly wrapped the blankets around her body as she smiled a sheepish grin at Haytham; she wasn't naked but she was only wearing her bra and panties and this wasn't the right moment to be even thinking about flirting with the man.

“We'll clean it up later, we promise!” she called out after him and jabbed Connor's shoulder, who had flopped down again. He didn't want to get up, he didn't want to do the funeral.

He didn't want to say goodbye and make it final.

“Come on, lets get you cleaned up, sleepy head.” Grumbling, Connor allowed her to help him up and took the crutches from her, limping his way into his bedroom. His suit already lay pressed and ready to be worn and he glared at it, wishing it would spontaneously combust. He loathed wearing suits like that, so uncomfortable.

He took a quick shower, after which Myriam helped him refit the bandages around his chest to help his ribs before taking a quick shower herself, and emerged twenty minutes later perfectly groomed and neat looking, with only minimal make-up and wearing a simple but elegant black dress, while Connor still hadn't even gotten his suit all the way on.

For some reason, Myriam was faster than he was despite being a girl, and it was something they always used to joke about. “Here, let me.” she said and reached for his tie, beginning to knot it in place, and fingered a strand of hair as he did so. “It's getting too long, don't you think? Shouldn’t you cut it sometime? Just a bit...”

“Maybe... I'll think about it.” Donning the jacket he made his way back into his bathroom and gave himself one last look-over; despite being uncomfortable, he would make sure he looked his very best at his mother's funeral.

“Ready.” he mumbled as he came back out again and Myriam gave him a sad little smile before offering him her arm, helping him back into the messy living room. After today the healing process could start... and she could only hope that the road to recovery wouldn't be too long or hard, not only for Connor but for Haytham as well.

-=-=-=-

Head to toe black. His suit was tailored and pressed, fitting him perfectly, the ribbon in his hair gone, replaced with a black hair tie. His face completed the look, absent of emotion.

He missed her. He _missed_ her. The smile she greeted him with every morning, the press of her sweatpants against his legs. Early in the morning, her tousled hair everywhere.

No, no... he couldn't, wouldn't think of it!

Of her hair, smell, the touch of her-

His fist ached, the spill of shattered glass of the mirror loud in the silence of his home. No, no, there would be no turning back now. No more thoughts of her. What was left was not his Ziio, better let the memory fade into obscurity. Like the others.

He bled steadily; he ignored any looks Myriam or Connor gave him and treated his hand atop of the kitchen counter. Glass was picked from his hand with the same expression his face held for days.

Devoid, blank nothingness.

"Shall we?"

Ignoring the stares, he waltzed forward, toward the elevator. There was no looking back for now on.

-=-=-=-

A car was already waiting for them to take them to the funeral home for coffee and the chance to offer condolences, and from there they would travel with Ziio's casket to the cemetery and back again. Connor had never experienced a funeral before but it all passed by in a blur anyway. Myriam and Shaun stayed near him the entire time to offer silent support and comfort.

There was police escort; the investigation into the accident was still running strong and they kept a close eye on him and Haytham in case Ziio's killer came back for a second try. They also kept the press at bay, the press conference William had held on behalf of Haytham had caused an uproar. They had lost count of how many news stations and journalists had requested interviews and there were always a few paparazzi lurking outside Haytham's apartment complex. The news that one of this century's most successful businessmen had kept the existence of his son – and therefor heir – a secret for twenty years had hit like a bomb.

There were more people present to pay Ziio their final respect than Connor had thought there would be. Of course there were the obvious; the clan members and their leader, who would perform a small ritual at the cemetery for Ziio. Sam Adams and his family were present. William Johnson, Thomas Hicky, John Pitcairn, Benjamin Church and even Charles Lee were present as well, as well as a whole bunch of other people Connor didn't know, but figured they were only there out of respect for Haytham, and not because they cared about the death of some native woman.

Some of his classmates were present, or at least those he could get along with, as well as a few of his favorite teachers, including Professor Davenport. Sergeant Betterly was present as well, and even the manager of the Red Mango showed his face, though Connor knew that was only because he was hoping to get into Haytham's good graces. Connor had never gotten along with the manager.

He remained silent, hadn't prepared a speech because he knew he wouldn't be able to even get a sensible word out of his throat anyway. He already felt choked and he didn't bother to try and stop the flow of tears, leaning half his weight on the crutches and the other half on Myriam, who held him and stroked his back, as Shaun occasionally squeezed his shoulder. He watched everything unfold, feeling as if he was standing behind a semi-transparent wall, disconnected from everyone else.

Every once in a while he tried to meet his father's eyes but so far he hadn't been lucky yet. Haytham had been exceptionally cold and distant these last few days, which of course was completely understandable, but if he was going to be living in the same house as his father from now on Connor could only hope that it would improve with time. They would probably never be friends but he could at least seriously try to make an effort. That's what mom would have wanted.

After the burial they drove back to the funeral home, where coffee stood waiting for them, giving them all a moment to talk or to share memories if they felt so inclined. At this point Connor was eager to leave this place and go back... well, not home, because home was in New Rochelle, but back to the quietness of his father's apartment. There was still that mess to clean up...

“Haytham, Connor.” Looking up he grimaced as he saw, William, Charles and the others walk towards them and he quickly turned away. He didn't want anymore condolences or apologies. He just wanted to _leave!_

-=-=-=-

The crowd was expected, as was the number of people gathered there. It wouldn’t be long, the service in general Mohawk tradition dictated days of mourning, but surrounding the actual body itself and viewing was deemed short giving Ziio’s... condition. A closed casket bearing the mark of her clan. It would be the last gift he could give to her.

They didn’t approach him, not one of them, and for that he was grateful. Condolences were nothing to him now. Throughout the service he felt eyes on him, and ignored them. Eyes were on him always, trying to gauge his reactions, forcing him to show emotion. No, he lost that ability a long time ago, when the world was far less cruel than it was. Anyone who did approach him received a simple nod or empty stare, the devoid depths of cold grey a sincere warning; do not bother me.

Treading with caution would do nothing but serve to irritate him at this point.

If they expected a speech, they were sorely mistaken. He‘d prepared one, sure, but he wasn’t up to the task. He wanted to leave this place, to make this trip quick and painless and to forget about New Rochelle, of the clan, of her...

A convulsion of the worst kind clutched his heart. To forget what he spent twenty years trying to remember. To forget what he clung to. To forget what made this city different from the others.

He almost had a home. He now had the dust of what could have been, to be swept into a barren strip of Earth. Still his face never changed.

“Haytham, Connor.” He’d expected them all there, and shook everyone’s hand in silence, say for Lee and William.

William was quick to pull him into a brief hug, the first hug he’d received in days, and he was quick to tersely accept it. He was torn between tensing and laying his head to rest on a tailored shoulder, if just for a moment.

“Condolences mean nothing, but I’m no less sorry for your loss.” They parted, Haytham nodding once and clapping William on the back, the gesture returned. “I don’t care what it takes, what it costs. We will find who did this, who and why. It’s a shame capital punishment is illegal here.”

“That may be for the best.” The first time Lee had spoken to Haytham in almost a week, and Haytham could only eye what was a close friend with intensity before said man added. “She wouldn’t have wanted that...”

There was simply a moment of silence between the two men, Charles clearing his throat and eying both Connor and Haytham, his gaze finally resting on his old partner and friend.

“... I’ve been cruel, haven’t I? Selfish even. There was so much at stake with the company I thought to... better keep a tab on things by keeping everyone in check. I can only apologize for your loss, for the both of you.” Listening, face devoid, Lee placed a hand on Haytham’s shoulder and squeezed, Haytham unflinching.

“We did not like each other, obviously. We didn’t hide it. But she did not deserve the death she was dealt.” He turned his direction to Connor, keeping a distance, removing his hand from Haytham’s shoulder to offer it to his son. “It’s a miracle you lived. We're glad for it."

"Thank you Charles. Very gracious of you." A little late but appreciated, and Charles let his hand drop when Connor didn't take it, Haytham not instructing him to do so otherwise. He did however clap the man on the shoulder, nodding. "I will see you tomorrow, at the office then."

"No, Haytham, take some time to yourself." William urged it, eyes flitting from Connor to Haytham. Connor would need someone to talk to, the transition had to be difficult for both of them. "Surely that will be more beneficial-"

"I'd rather immerse myself in work, thank you William." Curt and short, William frowned before nodding, clapping Connor very lightly on the back. He waited until Haytham was out of earshot before he leaned in to whisper. "Take care, of both of you." He eyed the retreating back wearily. "He handles his grief... poorly."

-=-=-=-

Charles' apology was... surprising, and perhaps even appreciated, but he had been too much of a dick towards him and his mother; Connor did not feel ready to accept his words just yet. Instead he just stared at the outstretched hand without taking it, meeting Charles' eyes with an unblinking stare until the man withdrew.

William though, he could handle and he managed a small smile as he clapped him on the back lightly. “I know he does.” he answered as he watched Haytham make his way towards the car. “But there is nothing I can do about it. He'll never listen to me.” Sighing he adjusted his crutches and nodded at William. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Johnson.” before he turned and made his way to Shaun and Myriam, who stood to the side, waiting.

“Are you sure you're going to be okay?” Myriam asked, the worried tone in her voice unmistakable, and this time Connor's smile was genuine. 

“I'll be fine, just wait and see.”

“You better be right about that, mate.” Shaun scoffed as he crossed his arms. “If we notice that you're starting to isolate yourself, I'll come and haul your arse out. Call, alright?”

“Yeah, I'll call tomorrow. Promise.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to come with you, Connor? There's still that mess in the living room and I'm equally responsible for it-”

Connor raised his hand and shook his head, stopping her. “I'll take care of it. It'll give me something to do since I'm stuck inside there anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, and Myriam pulled him into a quick hug, promising to give him a call the next day.

Haytham was already waiting near the car and, figuring that he was probably reaching the limits of his patience Connor climbed in as quickly as he could, not saying a word. The apartment was 20 minutes away and he already knew that these 20 minutes were going to be most uncomfortable and awkward. Hopefully there would be no paparazzi when they arrived... that was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.

-=-=-=-

His functions- greetings, the few words he spoke, his brief movements- all mechanical. He’d accuse his mind of being elsewhere but it simply was not. He existed as he always did, it would be no different. Sooner or later, he’d adjust once again. He’d done it before at a much younger age. He contemplated as much as he opened his own car door, sitting in the drivers side in silence.

Just a hurtle. He’d forget her, someday.

And with that omission came the pain. 

Forgetting her meant forgetting what made him feel connected. Human. It meant changing the channel every time her favorite movies were on. It meant throwing away every letter she wrote, no matter how brief. The fleeting lip twitches and smiles they shared. Twenty years of caring for her, long after he thought she simply did not.

The letters, Tupperware, and dream catchers were easy enough to avoid. But how does one avoid the changing seasons, the taste of game, or the fleeting moments shared?

He needed noise, the static quite was drowning him. The first song chosen played clearly and softly, a station she often played. 

_/...I found a reason for me, to change what I used to be, a reason to start over knew, and the reason is you-/_

No. Another angry flip, and he landed on a rock station. 

_/So don’t you cry tonight-/_

No. Another flip, and an older station. 

_/Come on, baby. Don’t fear the reaper-/_

In his desperation he flipped to the very last station on his radio, so very aware that his iPod sat beside him, unwilling to touch it because she loaded every damnable song onto it for him one Saturday afternoon.

_/Tell me how am I supposed to live without you? Now that-/_

He resisted slamming a fist through the radio if just barely, shutting the dam thing off and settling for staring straight ahead, nails digging into the palm of his hands.

He couldn’t note how long it took for Connor to climb in, but as soon as he buckled up Haytham sped off, murmuring. “I’m going to work. I’ll drop you off at...” home didn’t quite describe it, it would do no justice... “... our apartment.”

He said not a damn thing past that, unable to look in Connor’s direction. His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel when he glanced and caught a glimpse of a bear claw necklace and lengthening black hair. 

Had he met brown eyes, those same brown eyes, he would have swerved into oncoming traffic. Whether intentionally or not would have been up for debate.

Of course, the media hounds were waiting. Some of which he knew, some of which he’d rather not.

“Get inside, as quickly as possible.” The attention was unwanted, especially for someone so unfamiliar with it. William had done his best, but there were some things even he couldn’t control, one being the audacity of the media.

He wouldn’t leave Connor to fend for himself, and put the car in park, stepping out to walk his son to the elevator at the very least, waiting for the onslaught.

“Mr. Kenway, is your son to be the ‘heir’ to the enterprise?”

“Connor, a picture with your father-”

“Why keep this hidden for so long, Mr. Kenway? The corporation fights for a noble cause-”

“It was rumored that you were a homosexual after your relationship with Mr. Birch was leaked. Do you have anything to say about that?”

He did pause for that, eyes narrowed slightly. “What I do in my _private_ time is no one’s concern.” Wonderful, now his sexual interests were to be publicized.

“So did you meet the Indian-”

“Native, for god sake’s, she was a Native American, and I will not answer that. Do the calculation, addition and subtraction isn’t all that difficult.” He opened the door to the lobby for Connor, knowing full well they couldn’t follow him inside. Good, to get back to work, away from the vultures.

“How profoundly has her loss affected you? She was a secret for over twenty years-”

… He didn’t remember throwing that punch. He didn’t remember turning around. He felt the sting of his hand and little else, except rage. And the touch of a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away. As luck would have it, he would follow, the fleeting touch of her lips and smell of her skin still on his mind, his eyes blur of regret.

He’d settle out of court if he was sued. Luckily, the reporter had been male. That was the only coherent thing he could muster to think before being pulled into the lobby, eyes down cast and shoulders hunched, but facial expression never changing.

He didn't even look up, he knew full well who pulled him away.

-=-=-=-

Oh god no they were there, waiting for them! Couldn't he stay in the car? Haytham might be used to dealing with these vultures but he wasn't! As quickly as possible? He was walking... no, _limping_ with fucking crutches! How was he supposed to be quick like this?!

At least his father stayed with him, providing a shield between him and the paparazzi who _swarmed_ the car the moment they stepped out, and steered him towards the double entry doors of the lobby, while dodging questions and pushing away cameras.

Fuck, this was horrible! Was this going to happen every time he stepped outside? How did Haytham _deal_ with this on a daily basis?!

No, he wasn't the fucking 'heir' nor did he want to be. No, he didn't want to stop for pictures with his father while half his brain was still back at the cemetery and no, he didn't- wait a second. He flashed Haytham a confused stare, not sure whether he had heard that correctly as he was ushered into the lobby. Homosexual? Him?  
He wasn't confirming it... but he wasn't denying it either.

“How profoundly has her loss affected you? She was a secret for over twenty years-”

Connor managed one short glare, eyes narrowing at the _rudeness_ of that question, before Haytham suddenly lunged, ramming his fist in the man's face hard enough even Connor winced at the blow. Everyone quieted in an instant, multiple pairs of shocked eyes staring between Haytham and the man who was no cradling his nose, and Connor quickly put his hand on his father's shoulder to pull him inside. Using one of his crutches to close the door he quickly led him to the side, out of sight from the reporters outside and glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed.

He could understand, really... the question had enraged him too and had he been in a better condition himself, he would have started throwing punches as well... well, at least now he knew where he got his short fuse from. 

“Who is Birch?” It felt awkward to ask, but he couldn't deny he wasn't curious... he'd never pinged his father for a man with an interest in the same gender.

-=-=-=-

He said nothing at first, simply pressing the elevator button. "It's none of your business." Short and to the point, he eyes the doors warily, watching the paparazzi swarm before stepping inside the elevator himself. William would have enough on his plate now, never mind if certain media personnel decided to ask other questions.

He'd have to wait to work... which meant alone time. With his son. With his tan skin, dark hair and Native trinkets.

He stepped out of the the elevator and opened his door quickly, stepping over the mess in his living room and heading straight towards the liquor cabinet. The corkscrew couldn't open that bottle any sooner, Haytham tempted to grab a glass before pausing and pressing the bottle straight to his lips, gulping like it was water.

It burned a bit more than that. He set it down when there was half a bottle left, then fetched a glass in silence. He needed out of his clothes.

Wordlessly, he left towards the shower, bathing quickly and scrubbing furiously to rid himself of that funeral smell; potpourri and candles simply offered no comfort. He threw his suit in the garbage, only because he lacked an incinerator.

He could work on his lap top, but the sight of his own room, the bed they had shared... if he pressed his nose to a pillow case, he could still faintly smell her hair.

It was safest in the kitchen, no clothing, no cloth could absorb the smell there.

Connor was about done cleaning, the living room beginning to resemble its former self as Haytham pulled up a chair and opened files to stare blankly. It was far too quiet, but he wouldn't dare to touch the traitorous radio, nor play the songs on any play list.

Was their anything left she hadn't _tainted?_

Another glass of wine and he paused as Connor folded a blanket, fingering the edge of his glass. His tolerance wasn't particularly high, he wasn't a grand drinker. The television, he never watched anything that wasn't with her. Nothing to end the static sound of white noise wringing in his ears, to keep her voice from his mind. She haunted him for days, growing stronger in his solitude.

Something had to break the silence.

"My sister's ex-fiance. My drill Sergeant. My first lover. Take your pick."

Slurring slightly, Haytham shut his lap top ad rested his head in his hand. Not many people knew this story, and those who did mostly knew contorted facts thanks to a certain slip from Hickey in an interview.

"I was sixteen. They'd parted years prior. He was forty... something. I don't recall. It was brief but pleasant, save for the world finding out and having a field day at little Edward Kenway's lad being a 'homosexual.' Blasted eighties. Closed minded... contrite... shit."

He paused, angrily glancing at his glass of wine. "If it wasn't that, it was, 'oh, you date Indians and Natives, Haytham? The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice, _Haytham?_ Like forbidden jungle and forest fruits do ya, _Haytham?_ As if it were anyone's business. So what if I did and still do? Everyone gets infected will illness, bleeds the same blood and meets the same fate eventually. Why should it matter?"

Why in the world was he sharing so much? He thought to question it but the buzz in his head was far more comfortable than the silence, and he asked in a voice fairly pleasant. "Anything else you want to know? C'mon, who knows when you'll ever get the chance again."

-=-=-=-

None of his business? No, he supposed it wasn't.

The living room looked even messier than it had been when they left. Haytham ignored it all and went straight towards his bathroom and for a moment he regretted not taking up on Myriam's offer to help him clean this all up. Too late though.

Bending down was awkward and hurt if he wasn't careful, which made picking up the various empty mountain dew cans and the occasional pizza box more than a chore. He folded all the blankets and collected all the pillows, taking them back to their respective places, and stuffed all the blu-ray discs back into the cabinet they had come from..  
The whole place looked a lot better already though it still wasn't perfect... but no one could expect him to do a great job today. It would have to do.

Loosening his tie he picked up his crutches again and made his way towards the kitchen, where he found his father sitting at the table behind a laptop, a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand. He scrunched his nose and shook his head before opening the fridge and looking at what it held... of course he didn't expect there to be anything he _liked_ or fancied now.

"My sister's ex-fiance. My drill Sergeant. My first lover. Take your pick."

Who? Birch? Furrowing his eyebrows he closed the refrigerator door and turned, leaning against the kitchen counter. It was difficult not to notice the light slur in his father's voice; he wasn't completely drunk but there was a flush to his face indicating that he was tipsy at the very least. Surely he would have never shared this story if it wasn't for the wine, and Connor listened in silence... sixteen. He had been sixteen, with a forty year old? Ew.  
Not that he had been much older when he first had sex; it had happened a few days after his seventeenth birthday, but at least he had been with someone in his twenties. The age difference hadn't been that big.

Haytham's story left him with questions though... he had admitted to having had sex with another man and liking it, so that either made him gay or bi-sexual... so that meant... “Did you ever truly love mom? Before all of this, before you met again?” He could believe that his father really had finally developed feelings for her, wanting to marry her and all... but what of before?

His eyes flicked up to Haytham's face. “Or was it just a physical thing at first?”

-=-=-=-

"… Lad..." Grey eyes truly met the brown he'd ignored for days, and for the first time he saw a presence that was not Ziio, if only because of that question.

"Yes. Yes, that is _exactly_ what it was. Physical!" Practically knocking down the wine glass, he searched out his shoes immediately, putting them on with shaking hands. "After Reginald turned out to be my sister's murderer- oh, did I forget to mention that? He murdered my sister and father, which is what landed me in that blighted military camp after I stabbed one of his assailants to death- oh, I didn't mention that to you either, judging by that look on your face- well after all of that the last thing I needed was _physicality._ "

Eyes narrowed to slits, he took out his cell phone and texted Charles quickly. _Pick me up. I want to go to work. I'm at home. Come now._

His conversation continued the moment he pocketed his phone. "You truly have no tact, do you? Do you have _any_ idea what you just insinuated about your mother? I understand you dislike me, boy, but do you think your _mother_ would have such little respect for herself?" 

It was hardly work clothing but what he wore would do. No one would question him, and his phone vibrated immediately, Charles only a few minutes away.

He'd wait in the lobby, by himself.

Closing the door behind him, Haytham could but muster one last glare at his son, shaking his head. "There is a reason she never told you about our history. She took it to her grave and I will take it to _mine._ " The door shut with a slam, Haytham immediately storming toward the elevator.

He'd be back in a few days. Other than that, let Connor fend for himself.

-=-=-=-

Connor jumped at the slam of the door, wide open eyes staring at the place his father had just stood as his mind still reeled from the information he had just been given. It wasn't... he hadn't meant it like that!

Haytham was right... he didn't have any tact. This... explained things. He hadn't known about his sister, that she had been murdered as well as her father, that Birch had been responsible and that he, his father, had stabbed someone to death.

He had been angry as well, angry at what had happened and it needed an outlet, which it had found in his father... he had never bothered to think about what his life had been like, nor did he want to. He was an asshole, he'd probably always be an asshole but something had made him that way.

And now Connor felt bad, for raking up painful memories during this already so difficult time... it hadn't all been his fault, Haytham had been even colder and shorter with him than he had before the accident but that didn't change the fact that... that he would have to apologize to his father.

He had gone too far and he knew it.

Pulling his eyes away from the door Connor buried his face in his hands, his curses coming out muffled before he dragged himself onto his feet and made his way to his bedroom.  
Undressing he took his sweet time taking a long, hot bath, the water soothing his sore muscles and the healing bruises he sported, until his fingers starting pruning.  
He dried himself slowly and glanced at the foggy mirror, slowly running the towel over it until he could see his reflection. His wet hair clung to his skin like spiderwebs, dripping cold drops of water onto his shoulders and down his back. He pushed a few strands out of his eyes and glanced down at the razor he used for shaving resting on the edge of the sink, and remembered what Myriam had told him earlier this morning.

_'It's getting too long, don't you think? Shouldn’t you cut it sometime? Just a bit...'_

So much had changed already, he thought as he picked up the razor and looked at his reflection again. Might as well make a few more changes.

~*~

Two days later Haytham still hadn't returned. Connor spent most of his time on the couch in front of the TV, trying not to move too much, unless he really had to, to go to the bathroom or to get something to eat, as he couldn't wrap the bandages around his chest tight enough on his own, but as long as he was careful and didn't breathe in too deeply it was fine.

As promised he kept in touch with Shaun and Myriam over the phone but refused their offers to keep him company, stating that he wanted some time to himself. The real reason was that he didn't want anyone to be here when Haytham finally returned... they needed to talk. He needed to apologize. In private.

Zapping with one hand he ran his fingers over the side of his head again; he didn't regret shaving away what he had, he rather liked the new look but it took some time getting used to.

He glanced at his phone; it was damaged in the accident, with a big scratch in the screen but it was still functional, as his thumb rested over the call button, his eyes on his father's number, before he canceled and tossed the phone onto the pillow again. Haytham stayed away because he didn't want to talk to him.

Connor just had to be patient for a little while longer and hope that when he did come back... he'd be willing to at least listen.

-=-=-=-

Short, curt, direct- the tears in the director's eyes affirmed his decision. Weak, making careless errors because of his absence. Weak in the face of his own weakness. Well, no longer. No longer would he stand for an useless insubordination from the likes of these so called professionals.

Charles clapped a hand to his shoulder, squeezing before clearing out his throat, loudly. "Once again, Haytham, you have tackled another issue our corporation would have been blind against if not for your resounding attention the last few days."

"I suppose staying in ones office will do such things." He should be so lucky the gym held a shower; he couldn't go without a daily fifteen minute shower at the very least. He speculated if the same was to be said of Charles, but chased the thought away. Such immaturity, it was glandular, clearly.

Whoever suggested otherwise would soon face termination.

"Your increased attention is surely paying off. Granted the reasonings are... less than desirable, but you're making the best of a tense situation. It's admirable." 

Nodding, Haytham silently agreed, very much intent on spending the very same evening in his office, content on sleeping on the over stuffed couch.

"It would be more admirable if you spent some time with your sure to be worried son."

"He's fine, William. Twenty one years old and fully capable of taking care of himself." 

Frowning, William counted out on his fingers, softly. "Sure, I mean he's only partially crippled for the time being, in a state of culture shock living with you, in a state of loss because of his mother-"

"What would you have me do, pat him on the cheek and read him a fairy tale? The lad is an adult." His attention almost turned back to Charles when he was cut off again, William shutting off the centrifuge the two men congregated near. 

Haytham glowered. "You just potentially ruined my experiment."

"You're potentially ruining your son's _life._ He's suffering a loss, Haytham. Whatever he did to upset you-"

"I never said anything of the sort, I'm not upset."

"-was done so because he himself is _hurting._ He needs a father, not an apartment atop of the world." 

Frowning, Haytham turned to William, smoldering eyes meeting concerned ones. And for a moment, the edges softened. "I've dealt with my fair share of grief, alone. Am I not better because of it?" 

For a long time William said nothing, looking into the eyes of the man before him. "I couldn't say. But if you don't mind experimenting with your son's emotional state to find out, perhaps that's all the answer we need."

"William-" Shoes clacked away, down and over the pristine hallway and out of the laboratory, the door shutting behind him as Charles turned to him.

"So, Chinese for lunch?"

~*~

Perhaps, just perhaps, there was some truth to William's words. Like hell if he'd tell him that.

The paparazzi had backed of considerably after the initial punch. William had opted to settle out of court for obvious reasons. It remained unpublicized, the settlement promising to be large. Haytham couldn't be bothered with the details, and William hadn't troubled him about them. In regards to that matter, anyway.

What his problem truly involved was Connor.

It wasn't so much what he said, it wasn't that Haytham divulged a lot of surprising information, it was that he looked so damned much like her. The hair color, the eyes, the complexion; he bore Haythams lips on another being. He ventured to guess they smelled similar, they'd even hunted similar. The only true difference was his slighter aversion to tradition; where as you could clearly tell her heritage, Connor occasionally dressed in everyday attire, minus the feathers and beads.

It was fine, it hadn't bothered him. He in fact, looked forward to him perhaps embracing that as his preferred fashion. It would keep Ziio out of his mind. Out of sight, out of mind, surely there was truth to that.

He arrived home with a pizza, if only because he remembered what toppings Connor liked- and, of course, a case of Mountain Dew. The only thing missing was a spoon for the boy to chew on...

What Connor liked. That's what he would focus on, Connor. Placing the pizza down and toeing off his shoes, Haytham cleared his throat, the faint glimmer of the living room television bright. "Connor I-"

… his breath left him.

Long, black and tied back, the sides of his head completely shaved. Feathers, at least three stuck from behind them, a tribal arm band strapped around a bicep, and his mothers necklace dawning his chest. He lay bare and tan against the coach, the bindings of his bandages somewhat loose, and when brown eyes met his, he forgot, just for a moment, how to breathe.

He could taste pumpkin and deer, see the autumns foliage in reds and yellows about the trees. Could hear her call to him from a tree, when he- in his studies, typing away- had ignored her for too long. He'd apologize and grin, attempting to follow her, and she'd show him the finer points of climbing. His Ziio.

… was no longer.

He almost staggered but recovered. "Pizza... on the table. I'll join you." He wasn't sure what was worse, the deafening voice that shouted Ziio was dead in his mind or his eyes or raking in the sight of the next closest thing just a few inches away.

He changed quickly, into jeans and a black muscle t-shirt, red hair tie in place as he emerged some minutes later, no less disheveled. The bottle of tequila he brought to the kitchen table, however, should do the trick.

-=-=-=-

Connor heard the door open before Haytham called out or even walked into the living room. He muted the TV with the remote, tossing it on the couch and then looked up, meeting his father's eyes briefly to find them staring, slightly wide and unblinking.

"Pizza... on the table. I'll join you."

Haytham nearly fled the room and Connor frowned... odd, but he supposed he should be used to his father's behavior by now. Then again he looked a little different from the last time Haytham had seen him so maybe he shouldn't be surprised. That he had brought them pizza _was_ surprising though. Good timing too, he was getting hungry.

He couldn't stop the wince as he carefully sat upright and pressed a hand against his ribs – dammit, he really had to ask him to help him with that soon – and reached for the crutches. He rose from the couch slowly and glanced in the direction of his father's bedroom, hearing him rustle about within, and limped his way into the kitchen where he found not only a freshly baked, hot pizza, but also a case of Mountain Dew.

Huh... okay?

“Thanks...” he muttered as Haytham shuffled back into the kitchen, wearing clean clothes but looking no less disheveled and tired, and sat down carefully. Better get it out sooner rather than later... “Listen, dad... um...” Connor kept his eyes on his hands as he laced his fingers together and rested them on the edge of the table. “About before... I... I said some things I shouldn't have and for that, I'm sorry. I didn't know, but even so, it wasn't my place to say such things. So... yeah... sorry.”

He glanced up, meeting Haytham's eyes briefly before he looked away again and leaned back into his chair. “I was also wondering if... later, you could help me with these.” He made a vague gesture towards the bandages. “They're a little loose.”

-=-=-=-

He almost missed it the first time, fiddling with the shot glass of tequila before removing two from the cupboard, placing them on the table with a raised eyebrow.

"… Connor." He turned to face his son, lips twitching. "That was the worst apology I have ever heard. I hope you realize this is coming from _me._ "

Grabbing plates he set them down, shaking his head. "You spoke without thinking about the consequences or fully intending to say what you did. As a result... an argument of sorts broke out." Again, his lips twitched, and even his eyes hinted of something else. "It's as if you're my son and have no concept of personal boundaries."

Who would have thought he'd inherit that of all things, at least the mentality. Clapping a hand on Connor's shoulder, he frowned. "… I haven't exactly led by example." His frown deepened at the loose bandages, a sigh escaping him. He was an adult, damn it. He should have a grip.

"… a truce, then. We're... not apt in the department of grief." He poured Connor and himself a shot, clinking the glasses together before downing one, blanching. That was _awful_. So awful he did a second for the burn.

"Your hair." An eye twitched as he sat down, examining it. "I quite like it."

-=-=-=-

Oh? Well fine then, he wouldn't bother with an apology the next time! He had meant it, every word, and Haytham insisted on stomping it back into the dirt and grinding his heel in by saying it sucked. Well thanks a lot.

… he wasn't interested in another argument though, so he didn't bother with a reply and instead grabbed a slice of pizza – huh, his favorite toppings too – and bit into it angrily, trying to ignore the hand on his shoulder.

He wasn't a heavy drinker, never had been and he eyed the tequila with a wary look. He caught Haytham's grimace as he swallowed his own shot and that didn't make him particularly eager to drink the stuff himself, but... getting drunk now didn't even sound that bad.

“Thanks.” he muttered and quickly ran a hand over his mohawk before grabbing his glass and lifted it, before downing it in one gulp – if Haytham could do that, who he knew wasn't a heavy drinker either, then so could he – but he regretted it instantly as the drink burned all the way down. He flopped forward, resting his forehead against the wood of the table and coughed, once, twice, trice and braced his hands against his ribs with a wince. Oh bad idea, that had been a bad idea!

“Tastes awful.” he croaked and slowly straightened again, eyeing his glass before pushing it forward and nodded at the bottle. Tasted awful, but it was working, if the woozy feeling he felt in his head was any indication. 

“So, now what?” he asked and took his refilled glass back, planning on savoring it this time. “I mean... how are we going to make this work in the mean time? I don't exactly plan on staying here any longer than I have to.” Surely he could find his own place once he was back on his feet again, and surely Haytham would love to have his apartment to himself again in the near future.

-=-=-=-

"Didn't think you were that desperate to leave, but alright. I'm sure I could pay your rent and you your own utilities in a place of your choosing. You won't have to put up with the likes of me any longer than necessary, and I can..." He paused, thinking about it, mulling it over for a moment.

"..." He needn't be at the office all day anymore, he was only doing so to escape a memory. There was London, but like hell if he'd ever visit Queen Anne's Square, let alone his mother who had pretty much given him up. His family was either dead or deserved to be.

There was no one to turn to, not any longer. This was to be his home...

He was to have a wife, and child- children, but one he could raise this time, the way he wanted to. One that wouldn't hate him for what he couldn't be. But the dream fell to nothingness before his very eyes.

And for the first time, in a long time, he had no idea what he would do now.

"In Queen Anne's Square, plays and Opera's were performed regularly. Some I never saw to their finish. Les Misérables was a favorite. One song, in particular, I'd almost forgotten it. Well... I can understand now, what that woman sings of." Fingering the bottle before him, he took far more than a shot and swallowed, breathlessly attempting to get air before standing on shaky legs, beginning to make his way towards his bedroom.

"Life has killed the dream I dreamed, indeed."

-=-=-=-

“Because clearly you don't want me around either. I understand that your work is important to you but you're there for like 95% percent of the time and you've been avoiding me for two days straight. At the risk of sounding like a whiny cunt...” as well as having to admit this to his father, his poor pride. “I kinda need your help for a while longer...” Which was why he wouldn't accept the offer of Haytham paying just so that he could live on his own; he needed daily help with the bandages, walking was a painful chore, he didn't have a car or any kind of other funding... it's simply wasn't realistic.

That meant he had to stay here for the time being, and that meant that they had to _make this work._

He watched his father move to his bedroom and eyed the bottle again, sighing and filling another shot for himself. This had to work...

By the time he got to his feet as well his legs were trembling and his vision was a little hazy around the edges; it was strong stuff for someone with as little tolerance for alcohol as he had. Making his way towards his father's bedroom he stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame, scratching the loose wrappings around his chest. Damn things itched.

“Mom wouldn't want us to fight...” he said softly and looked down at the floor, not really sure where to look now. “She may not be... here anymore, in this world, but she wouldn't have wanted this. She... had always hoped for us to get along, and I know I haven't been trying very hard, have been a crappy son to you, but... I do want this to work, dad. You're-” the only family I have left, but he couldn't get those words past his lips. 

Swallowing thickly he raised his head and glanced off to the side, staring at a spot on the wall as his fingers slowly clenched into fists and relaxed again. “I can't do this on my own. Even with her gone, I want to keep doing the things that would have made her happy in life, but I can only do so much on my own. I need you-” Turning his head he met his father's grey-blue eyes with his own, the determination clear on his face. “-to help me make this work. For her.”

-=-=-=-

He never shut the door, simply laying on his side as he so often did. Colors passed with the setting sun, and he felt nothing. Not silence, not static, just nothing. As if he couldn't properly breath.

By the time Connor staggered over the varied lights had long since faded, airplanes occasionally passing by, their red blips the only clue that they weren't distant stars. He remained seated, simply waiting for more criticisms to be had.

Unexpected and unprepared, he sat up wobbly. No, she wouldn't. But she wasn't here. But... the light from the following room showed enough of Connor's face. He wasn't alone, not yet. Perhaps he should revel in that while it lasted.

All he wanted to do was forget her. Not to allow her memory to continually haunt him, and he staggered forward, approaching his son. "Bandages, I should change them." Flipping the light switch, he blatantly ignored the tears in his eyes and got what he needed. "Sit, on the bed." A little more clumsy than he would've been but still capable, he began removing the bandages from around his ribs slowly, carefully.

"… You remind me of her." The cracking sound of his own voice caught himself off guard. He wouldn't look up. For a moment, he wished he left the light off, but he'd be unable to see. "I wasn't _that_ angry. You've said worse, unintentionally or not. But you resemble her." His eyes didn't leave the bandages, didn't leave the bruised skin. It looked soft to touch.

It was soft, warm. He removed the bandages slowly, and found himself unable to look into eyes he knew were staring at him. He could feel it. "I don't want to be reminded of what I almost had again. I want what I lost."

He mustered the nerve to look up, one hand touching the thick, ebony hair, tracing feathers, before falling to rest on a broad shoulder. "For one night, I'd like to forget. I simply want to know how."

-=-=-=-

Connor did not comment on the sudden change of subject, especially not when he caught the glimmer of tears in his fathers eyes as the light switched on, and obediently made his way over to the bed. He sat down carefully, feeling the mattress dip under his weight, and placed the crutches down next to him.

He wasn't quite sure how to answer that as his father began to gently unwrap the bandages; he obviously had features of both his parents, but appearance wise he was a lot more like Ziio, especially at first glance, though he could recognize bits and pieces that belonged to Haytham if he scrutinized himself in the mirror. No, he didn't suppose that he was making this any easier for the man, by reminding him of her but there was nothing he could do about that, was there?

His eyes followed the movements of his father's fingers as they touched his hair and stroked along the decorative feathers he had clipped in, before his hand landed on his shoulder, and as he looked up he found Haytham looking him, directly.

He could... perhaps understand what his father was trying to say, but surely he didn't want to forget about Ziio completely? Connor sure couldn't, nor did he want to. She'd be alive in his memories and in his heart until the moment he died, always a part of him.

He should... say something, but what? What if he said something wrong again? He had never been great with words, and it was all too easy to say something that would anger his father, whether it was done intentionally or not.  
This was a side of his father he had never seen before; he was always closed off, distant, cold... but now Connor felt like the door had opened a bit, just enough to catch a glimpse of the man underneath the layers and walls Haytham kept around himself.

Part of him was glad for it, that his father was allowing him to see this. The other part hated it because he didn't know how to deal with it. What to say.  
“I'm... if there's something that I... I mean, I don't know how either, but if I can help, I'll try.” It was the least he could do. Despite everything, their differences, their arguments - and they would continue, he was sure of it - he didn't want to push his father away. He was the only family he had left, and while he didn't know if Haytham had any other relatives that were still alive... what if he didn't?

What if he was the only one left for him too?

-=-=-=-

He was aware, even as his mind began to fog around the edges. The response from Connor... he'd been turned down, pushed away, misunderstood. Not just by him, no, by almost everyone. Ziio seemed the only one who knew him and didn't avert her eyes. Even she turned away, for some time. It didn't matter now though.

He wanted to forget. Connor was willing to help, whether he was aware of how to or not.

"Thank you." A large hand stroked, watching bruises disappear under his hand. They needed to be cared for. As did the one on his hip, no doubt. "You need the wrap on your hip changed... we should do that now." Grey eyes lifted, calmly, observing the calm eyes before him.

Tequila, the smell of it lingered between the two of them. Even through the thickness, he could smell sandalwood, and a musk he couldn't quite recognize.

It comforted him. "Let's have a look." Yes, a look.

-=-=-=-

Things were quiet as fresh bandages were re-wrapped around his chest. Connor sat as still as he could, keeping his breathing slow and even as they tightened, enough so his healing ribs wouldn't shift if he suddenly breathed in too deeply. It sucked, not being able to do so... he'd rather break a leg next time.

“... yeah, you're welcome.” he muttered as Haytham finished, and he reached for his crutches to stand up-

"You need the wrap on your hip changed... we should do that now."

_What?_ Connor's eyes flicked up before they glanced down, staring at the bit of padding that poked out of his pants. Er... he could do that himself no problem, because changing those wrappings meant he had to take everything off, and he wasn't too eager to do that with his father watching him.

“I...” he sighed. He could say no. He had every damn right to say no! But... this was the first time in... in... what, weeks? that he and Haytham were talking normally again, without any yelling or screaming or flinging insults at each other?  
And he was only trying to help, he reminded himself as he absently stroked his fingers over the perfectly tied wrappings around his ribs. Haytham knew what he was doing, right?

Oh alright fine then! But it was going to be awkward! Not to mention embarrassing...

He couldn't even look at his father's face as he reached down and undid his belt, pulling it free before he popped the button and pulled his zipper down. He could already feel a blush creep onto his cheeks as he stood and pushed his jeans and underwear down, having to lean on Haytham as he pulled his bad leg free before sitting down again and kicking his pants off all the way, letting them crumple on the floor.  
Right... biting the inside of his cheek he curled his fingers into the sheets, staring at the light switch on the wall as he tried not to think about the fact that he was sitting butt naked in his father's bedroom with him watching.

-=-=-=-

The hesitance, he didn't understand. Tipsy as he was, he eyed the wrappings already done, judging them to be perfect, as per usual. So, why...

Oh.

Right, it was the junction between hip and thigh... not just his hip but his leg as well. Ah. Had he been sober, a faint tinge would to grace his features. This was far from the first nude body he'd encountered, medically or otherwise. Of course, it was also his son.

No matter. He hadn't realized how difficult it was for the lad to merely change.

He distracted himself, counting a few freckles across his arms. The few on his face were next, Haytham readying more wrappings, silently peeling the ones on his leg off. They were a little too tight. Connor probably hadn't realized.

He let himself wince as he looked at the injury, warm fingers carefully grazing the large, discolored bruise. Almost black and purple, the very edges that deep yellow color of something trying to heal. It must hurt.

It stuck out so largely against his skin. There were no other blemishes to be seen, very few scars- far fewer than Haytham had himself- lining him. One on the knee, and no other ones until his eyes met his shoulder, the patch of pink scar tissue evident on his skin. Rougher looking than everything.

Scars always tasted differently under tongue, rough against the taste buds. Her's did, with her dark hair and smooth, olive skin. He couldn't help but wonder if Connor's did as well, even as he dressed the wrapping. Every bit of him was perfectly smooth, shaven. He almost asked what he used but stopped himself just in time.

"Done." He offered his hand, helping him into the sitting position, turning to fetch pants before shaking his head. Light headed, alcohol truly did wonders, and turned to mention as much to Connor but stilled.

A feather had fallen, from its clip. Pants fell from his hands as he moved to pick it up. "Here." Fingers caressed hair, inserting the feather back in and adjusting it. "That's better." He changed position to face his son, sitting on the side of the bed.

He cupped his cheek, unable to prevent the smile. His mind seemed hazed, lackadaisical, heavy with alcohol. He rather liked that. "Truly are a handsome lad, aren't you?" He fought the chuckle at the flush, pressing his forehead to his sons.

"You really..." He backed away slowly, if only to take in the flush that blessed Connor's cheeks, deep eyes focused on him now. He flushed for him, for his words alone. 

"Truly..." A bit cold, and muscular. Caramel skin splayed out beneath him. Perfect for claiming, for biting. How would it taste, beneath his lips?

"Are..." In an exhale, and he could feel his son breathing, could hear his heart beating. Time stilled. His heart thrummed. The similarities that stung him seconds ago provided relief now, perhaps warmth.

He said nothing, not as he leaned in. Not as he pressed an openly inviting kiss to the mouth beneath his own, searching for anyway to slip himself inside. There was nothing gentle about it. His lips were parted going in, and at the lack of response he bit down on the lower lip against him, using the surprise as leverage.

Black hair quickly threaded between fingers as his grip tightened, his other hand already marking a trail on his back. Nails dug in instantly. His tongue explored greedily, hungrily, Haytham's head titling deeper to allow for better access, grip tight, trailing out of hair to grip the back of his neck, hard.

For a moment, just for a moment, he lived again. Passionately and freely.

-=-=-=-

Connor allowed himself to be guided down until he was flat on his back, and stared up at the ceiling. It helped that he had drank a couple of tequila shots; he was tipsy enough to not completely freak out. Okay, freak out was over-exaggerating things maybe, but the whole situation was just weird. 

He tensed slightly as he felt the wrapping slowly being removed; he wasn't a blushing virgin or anything, absolutely not, but there were still _fingers_ working very close to his genitals even though there was nothing sexual about it.

Connor blamed it on the alcohol.

He couldn't stop the wince as Haytham gently stroked the large bruise, the area still sensitive. He counted the seconds as his father worked, applying a new dressing and wrapping it in place, not quite realizing that his breathing had picked up a little, until-

"Done."

Oh thank you! Nodding he took the offered hand and slowly sat up again, his expression scrunching up in slight discomfort, and reached out to accept his pants, eager to put them back only for Haytham to drop them again and go for the fallen feather instead. Hello! Forget the feather, he wanted his pants back!

Now he felt even more than just confused, which was the only reason he even sat still as it was clipped back in place with the others at the nape of his neck. The hell was going on?!  
“Dad?” he asked, uncertain brown eyes meeting steel grey that looked slightly glazed over as a large hand cupped his cheek to tilt his head up. Maybe... maybe Haytham was more affected by the alcohol than he had first let on, because this was... this was... so unlike him! Yeah, he knew he had a pretty face and his ego sure didn't mind the words one bit but- “Hmf!”

Connor froze completely. 

There were lips on him. His _father's_ lips were on _his._ As in _kissing_ , and not even in a paternal-loving-peck kinda way! It was pressing, demanding, dominating, but Connor was too shocked by the sudden unexpected turn of events to even respond to it; his own lips remained pliant but unmoving underneath his... until Haytham bit down.

He gasped loudly, a sharp burst of pain spreading through his lower lip and his mouth opened before he could even try to stop it. A tight grip on his hair and Connor reached up, pressing his hands against Haytham's shoulders and pushing, before his fingers simply clenched as a hot tongue swirled around the inside of his mouth, swiping over his teeth, reaching every corner and probing his own tongue to coax it into action.

And all he could think about was holydamnfuck he was a good kisser! He groaned as sharp fingers trailed down his spine and Connor arched his back, not quite sure whether he was trying to lean away from the touch, or try to press closer to the warm body next to him.

His senses were being bombarded and overloaded from all sides; his mind screamed at him that this was wrong, this this was his _father_ of all people and that they shouldn't be doing this, even as he began returning the feverish kiss, digging his fingers into Haytham's shoulders, but through the haze of alcohol clouding his brain, the fact that this was his father didn't seem all that important anymore.

It was good. It felt good. Being naked no longer felt like a problem. Even the tight grip on the back of his neck felt... well, right wasn't the proper word. Nice. It felt nice. For some reason.

By the time his lungs began screaming for air Connor recovered enough of his senses to wrench his face to the side, trying to breathe in as deeply as he could with the bandages restraining his ribs. His lower lip was throbbing lightly where teeth had clamped down on it before, and Connor licked them slowly, staring up at his father's face with dark eyes that were slightly glazed over. And with a hot flush he realized that somewhere during the kiss, his penis had decided that it really quite liked the treatment. “Er...” Swallowing thickly he leaned away slightly, frowning as the hand against the back of his neck prevented him from going too far. “Dad, I'm not quite sure if...” this should continue? Despite his body clearly showing interest.

-=-=-=-

Well about time, some response. And it was a fairly nice one. The flat of his tongue swiped the roof of Connor's mouth, twisting briefly against his own. Exploring, sucking, biting, swiping- his son was delicious, warm. He never thought one could taste young, the tang of mountain dew sticking to his tongue over the overwhelming presence of alcohol. He quite liked that, the saccharine bitterness.

Before more exploration, he pulled away, Haytham cracking his eyes open. The press against him told no lies. Haytham kept his grip firm as Connor stammered. "Dad, I'm not quite sure if..."

Giving his son a flat stare Haytham reached down between them; Connor's cock pulsed in his hand, the wordless flush on his face making him trace his tongue over his lips. He squeezed _harder,_ thumb moving to the slit. Impatient he wondered... how often could he cum?

"Connor, you usually don't heed my advice, but I implore you to this time." Haytham growled against his ear, biting his ear lobe as his hand moved up and down the cock in his palm, grip tight, tense. "Shut the _fuck_ up." Again his teeth bit down, on his exposed throat this time, so hard he felt skin split between his teeth and he listened to the boy cry out.

"I don't inspire conversation, I inspire _screams._ "

He threw him backwards onto his bed, and stood only to disrobe. His clothing fell to a crumbled heap, smirking as he licked his lips, eyes drinking in every inch of muscled, contoured caramel. He was over him, naked, covering his body, mindful only of his injuries. Blood pounded through him, his lips a breath away from Connor's, and again his hand slipped into his hair, the other pressing to his son's lips, tapping. 

"Deep breath. Don't pull away from me." There was nothing nice about the statement, the same fingers trailing down the dip of his collar bone, far past his thudding pulse to scratch a path down his abs. He gave no warning before descending, the mouth beneath him open, and he plunged his tongue in again, fisting hair so hard his own fingers ached. His other hand explored, reaching between them, cupping Connor's testicles and kneading as he kissed, swallowing any whimpers. Connor would need to pull back for air before him, doubtless.

Good. He'd revel in the punishment.

-=-=-=-

He didn't saw Haytham's hand move down between his legs until he felt it, his dry grip tight enough it almost hurt. He grunted and stilled, even as a thumb swiped the slit and his hips bucked before he could stop himself. So different from Myriam's soft touch and teasing fingers; Haytham's hand was much rougher, larger, firmer, calloused. It didn't compare at all. It bordered on uncomfortable as he hadn't even used spit to slick up his palm, but his body seemed to care little for it.

Connor closed his mouth with a clack and tightened his fingers on his father's shoulder, struggling to sit still, to keep from squirming, to keep from making sounds that were louder than the gasps and grunts that already escaped him. The sudden bite on his throat was enough to stomp his struggles back into the ground and he automatically tried to jerk away from the painful bite.

"I don't inspire conversation, I inspire _screams._ "

His breath hitched in his throat at those words; yeah, he could believe that with ease. “You... you like it when your partners are loud then?” he asked as he was pushed down on his back and tilted his head so he could watch his father undress.  
Loud he could do; he had always been able to easily adapt to his lover's wishes. He had never been particularly picky, not about gender nor about position. If Haytham wanted him to be loud, then loud he could be... unfortunately for his dad he also had a stubborn streak.

His eyes roamed over the expense of naked skin as the last bit of clothes fluttered to the ground, taking in every detail until they drifted down and Connor swallowed thickly, eyes widening. Oh um... wow. Yeah. That was... yeah. He hadn't bottomed in quite some time and if he was to take _that_ up his ass, then... yeah.

That explained why Haytham always walked around with such an air of absolute confidence.

He quickly tore his eyes away from it and settled them on his father's face again as the man crawled over him, his hand once again taking a firm grip on his hair. Deep breath? How was he supposed to take a deep breath when he couldn't even inhale all the way because of his ribs? “Wai-” he started but Haytham already leaned down and captured his lips in another rough, near bruising and especially thorough kiss. Connor groaned into it, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to battle his father's tongue for dominance and squirmed as he felt fingers dip between his legs and begin kneading and massaging his balls.  
There was no way he could win this, no way he could hold his breath until Haytham finished. His whimpers and gasps were swallowed up, one heel digging into the mattress as his other leg dangled over the edge of the bed, and he quickly began to feel light headed.

He tried, he tried to hold it because goddamned if this wasn't one of the hottest kisses he'd ever shared with someone, but he needed air! His hands pushed against his father's shoulders as his expression scrunched up in growing discomfort, struggling against his hold. He'd gladly continue the kiss... but only _after_ he caught his breath again!

-=-=-=-

Tensing, moving against him, batting him away. Haytham grinned, allowing it and his eyes fluttered open as they parted slowly. Flushed, breathless, eyes glistening.

Like he had ruthlessly fucked his son's face. He quite liked that look. "Catch your breath..." If you can. He leisurely lapped the heightened pulse, bringing his palm to his mouth and spitting. This would be vigorous.

"I do like screams, only if they're deserved." Two fingers pressed between open legs, trailing down his taint and further still, to the puckered, rather small entrance.

It dawned on him, he had never inquired about his son's sexuality.

Instead of asking Haytham pressed forward, Connor's body quivering beneath him as he inserted two fingers. He eyed his face, halting briefly. His chest rose and fell erratically beside him, Haytham adjusting to lay beside his son, interested in seeing his expression change as he fingered him.

Pained, but there was pleasure to be had as well. He didn't stop, simply changed his angle, fingers scissoring once, twice, and on the third time came the tightening. He suppressed a grin at the reaction, barely. "Not a virgin... but not very experienced." He ignored the scathing look he received and licked his lips. "Perfect."

He meant it. Virgins were a bother, whores were jaded. He'd much prefer a natural reaction, particularly arching hips under his fingers as he moved, slowly, each finger individually rubbing the small gland inside him.

"Touch yourself." It wasn't a request. His free hand grabbed Connor's and spit in his palm, eyes gazing to meet the clouded brown, smirking hard. "C'mon, do it for _daddy._ "

-=-=-=-

Connor heaved in the precious oxygen as Haytham moved away, against his better judgment, and winced, placing a hand over his bandages ribs as he tried to catch his breath without hurting himself even more. Bloody bastard, forcing him breathless like that while _knowing_ he wasn't in the best condition for such a thing.

Was this what alcohol did to his father? Made him all... well... horny sounded about right. And dominant and wanting and not seeming to care that he was molesting his own _son!_ Granted, Connor didn't particularly feel like stopping any of this right now, even though the little voice in the back of his mind kept screaming at him that this was wrong and that this had to stop before it went even further... but through the hazy cloud of alcohol the fact that they were related didn't seem all that important anymore. He _knew_ that this was wrong on so many levels... but it felt nice.

He'd been longing for some niceness for a while now, in whatever form, and if it was going to be like this, then...

His mind reeled and for the moment Connor just focused on filling his lungs, not noticing the fingers until they trailed over his entrance. Eyes opening he stilled and glanced down with a questioning look in them – so soon already? - but before he could even voice his question out loud- “Jesus Chri-ah!” That burned, pretty badly too. Two fingers and only a bit of saliva to ease the way, combined with his lack of recent practice, there was no way he wasn't going to feel that.  
“You've never heard of lube before?!” he snapped and bit his lower lip as the fingers pressed deeper, probing and searching. 

Bastard... Twisting fists full of the sheets Connot focused on relaxing his muscles, to accept the invading digits instead of fighting them, to allow the dry push instead of trying to push them out again, his expression scrunching up in pained concentration.  
Almost... almost... little to the left- there! He bucked, gasping loudly as his muscles tightened around the fingers while the rest of his body sagged against the sheets. Oh much better! Again, damnit! 

“It's been a while.” he wheezed and spread his legs a bit wider, allowing for easier access and dug his heels into the bed. He rolled his hips onto the fingers, not as much as he would have liked – damn injuries – but he tried nonetheless. And it was for that very reason, the fact that he hadn't bottomed in a long time, that he wasn't going to take his father's (impressive) junk without decent lube. Spit was not decent lube in this case!

"Touch yourself."

Connor snapped his head to the side, his face flushed red as he blinked at his father – was he fucking serious? 

"C'mon, do it for _daddy._ "  
Ugh, that... those words and that grin shouldn't have gone directly to his cock, but they did and his hand already reached down before he could even stop it.  
“I better get something nice in return for putting on a show.” he answered snootily – like lube, that'd be nice – and wrapped his hand around his cock, angling it in just the right way, just how he liked it. This time he didn't bother to bite back the loud moan and he arched his back, tilting his head back as he thumbed the slit before dragging his fingers down the large vein on the side, squeezing.

“N-never... figured you for a voyeur.” he snipped as he twisted his wrist, managing to flash his father a smirk and felt himself tighten around his father's fingers.

-=-=-=-

Mm. And what a show it was. He hadn't appreciated the view before, but Connor's hand stroking, pulling, playing with what was a very nicely sized appendage was nothing short of delicious. He twisted his fingers once more, applying more pressure, replying.

Not with words, oh no. His free hand grabbed Connor's, and directed it to his own erection, closing around his tightly, the smallest of gasps leaving him at the sensation.

"That _is_ your reward. My intention is to _fuck_ you until you forget your name." Curtly, he leaned closer, letting Connor's hand go. "Have you ever been fucked by someone my size, my stature? Not a boy, but a man?" His fingers quickened, the smirk growing on his lips at every groan his son made.

"No, you haven't,have you? You've never had someone grab the back of your neck and throw your face to the sheets." Faster, his hand moved faster, slapping noises lewd and loud as he spoke, his lips pressing against his son's as he did. "You've never had someone scoff at your request for lube, have you? No one's ever spit into their palm, slathered it onto themselves and smacked you on the ass before _fucking_ you senseless."

He quickened his pace, watching the face contort beneath him, feeling him tighten, insides clenching and spasming tight and hot. Harder and faster, so hard his hand hurt from the damn angle but he continued, biting the lips so close to his. "Here's the thing, Connor. I'm a man, so are you. I'm going to fuck you, like a man should. Dominant, hard, fast... so you're cumming so hard you forget your name, your screams breathless." He licked were he had bitten, smiling at the noises, at the the sound of flesh on flesh, and those muscles clamping erratically.

"Cum, so I can bend you over my sheets and fuck you." Graciously, Haytham reached between them, massaging Connor's testicles one more time before licking the seam of his lips. He was ready to fuck his son harder than he'd promised.

-=-=-=-

Oh.

_Oh!_

Connor swallowed the dry lump in his throat, his wide eyes staring at the ceiling as his fingers were forced to close around rigid flesh, hard and thick and hot and heavy and holy _fuck._

He did not answer the question and even as Haytham let go of his hand, Connor did not remove his own, keeping his fingers closed around his father's erection because he needed _something_ to hold on to and it just so happened to be this.  
The fingers were speeding up rapidly now, his body welcoming them eagerly, allowing easy access. His body convulsed with the powerful bursts of pleasure it received, his darker skin glistening under a sheen of sweat catching the light of the lamp.

He was getting to the point he barely felt the discomfort and painful throbs in his ribs and hip anymore, not even as he squirmed and twisted, his feet scrabbling over the scratchy sheets to try and find better purchase, wanting, _needing_ to push back on those fingers harder than he already did.

He vaguely realized that his tight grip on Haytham's cock might be bordering on painful, but he couldn't force himself to let go now, not with himself hovering on the edge of what he already knew to be a mind blowing orgasm. He was cursing constantly now, small breathless filthy words that mixed with his increasingly desperate moans and cries he didn't even try to muffle, nearly loud enough to drown out the wet slaps of skin on skin.

The expression on his face said it all; he was _close,_ and desperate to get there, to be pushed over the edge and fall and fall and fall.

Still, he wouldn't be Connor if his stubborn streak did not win out, his body shaking and trembling in the effort of keeping his rapidly approaching orgasm at bay, despite wanting to let go so badly. The touch on his balls drew a garbled, choked out groan from his lips and his whole body tightened, tensing and going rigid like a tightly wound coil, like a serpent getting ready to strike, and with one last, well-aimed prod of fingers against his prostate, Connor's control completely shattered. His scream was only partly swallowed up by Haytham's only lips hovering over them as he bucked and trashed on the bed, shooting stringy ropes of cum onto his stomach and bandaged chest.

He had been right... mind blowing orgasm indeed.

-=-=-=-

He tried his best not to groan, both because of Connor's tightening, convulsing body and the grip he had on his cock.

He was a screamer, warm breath hitting his lips as Connor yelled himself almost hoarse. So close to his own face, he could make out the face he made as he came, the flush that covered his cheeks to the maddening little mumbles he made, eyes closed. Even as his body tensed and tightened Connor kept his eyes closed, hair strewn about as he thrust against his fingers. There was no smirk to be seen on Haytham's face.

He'd grown accustomed to rather amusing orgasm faces. Never had he seen an attractive one.

He'd meant to give him air, but found himself pressed to Connor's lips, one hand dipping between them to glide up cum coated bandages and abdominal muscles. He wordlessly separated from his son, licking each one of his fingers off and lewdly sucked the last one before kissing him again, sharing the taste of him, tongue winding to caress Connor's.

Removing his fingers from him, Haytham parted slowly and frowned at the slackening hold on his cock. "The grip from before was preferable." He allowed himself to cover Connor's hand and squeeze _hard_ , hard enough to elicit a gasp from himself, shutting his eyes. "Yes, perfect." Perhaps, to be used next time. His erection ached almost painful now.

Normally he'd toss his bed partner on his or her stomach by this time, but Connor's injuries prevented that. "On your stomach, or hands and knees.” He rose to his knees, spitting into his palm again and slathering quickly before taking a position at the foot of the bed, smirking. Time to reward him with a treat.

-=-=-=-

Connor wheezed for air, barely responsive to anything his father did. He needed some time to come down from his high. He did not respond to the kiss and instead simply stared up at whatever was above him, the ceiling, his father's face, with a sated, glazed over, whoozy look in his eyes.

The bitter taste that invaded his mouth as Haytham kissed him though was less than pleasant; he usually didn't mind swallowing the few times he had given blow jobs, but those had never included him swallowing his _own_ seed before.

“Shut up...” he muttered as Haytham forced his fingers to tighten around his still very hard cock and, oh right... they weren't done yet.

Connor managed a glare that was both tired and a little bit irritated – he was comfortable dammit and he didn't feel like moving! - but his father was going to do this anyway (and Connor wasn't going to stop him from doing this) and he did realize that in his condition the current position wasn't favorable to his injuries.

Could have done with a please though. But that wasn't Haytham's thing, he had learned that in the very first week already. One thing was clear though; alcohol made his father fucking _rough!_

His limbs felt like they were made of lead, heavy and sluggish and not listening to his brain, like they were disconnected from his body. He took his sweet time rolling onto his right side with a soft grunt, grimacing at the feel of sticky, sweat-damp sheets clinging to his skin, and pushed his right knee under him, slowly pushing himself up. He was less worried about his ribs than he was about the sprain in his hip, he'd have to keep his weight on his right leg for the most part. He could of course also lay down on his stomach and stretch out over the sheets, but that would put further pressure on his chest and impair his breathing even more, and that was already strained enough as it was. It was either this, or that.

And he wasn't going to show his father any weakness, so he'd deal with the uncomfortable position. Bracing himself on his elbows Connor turned his head and glanced over his shoulder, staring at his father over his raised ass. He still hadn't seen him grab any lube. Haytham could say all he wanted but he wasn't the one _taking_ it, and there was nothing wrong with wanting some decent lubrication, especially when faced with that size.  
“Get lube, dammit.” he hissed. “I don't feel like dealing with the burn just because you're too impatient to grab some.” 

-=-=-=-

Slowly. Damn it, he was rolling over far too slowly, so slowly Haytham almost rolled him over himself. Lackadaisical, shaky, his movements were calm and sluggish.

Well, that would teach him to let Connor come first.

As the swell of hips gave rise to the tight, robust looking ass in front of him, however, he cared just a little less about his waning patience.

Again grey eyes rolled, Haytham lining himself up before pressing himself against Connor's still spasming body. Quite a sight, muscles and rippled flesh, dark skinned and hairless, and for a moment Haytham thought to use lubricant. Of course, one would have to have lubricant in order to use it.

He said as much and pressed the thick head to his son's ass, the slightly stretched opening just waiting. "I've no lube, you'll manage."

Without any further warning, a large, calloused hand gripped the back of Connor's neck, pressing his face to the sheets. God he was _tight_ even after the preparation. Even with saliva, with his own large fingers having stretched him, muscles clamped around him, squeezing around his head as fought through, teeth grit.

He would not stop to allow adjustment, fighting every warm, aching muscle for his right to be inside his son. Silken, tight heat engulfed him readily, and Haytham continued. Connor shook around him, he could feel it, and Haythams grip tightened around his throat, jaw slackening as a loud moan escaped him. He wasn't even in fully, but he almost wanted to stop to just _feel_ every muscle move against him, little shivers of pleasure dancing through him.

A small moan left his lips as he finally filled the boy completely, sheathed deep inside of him. He watched Connor spasm, watched only briefly how wide his rectum had stretched to accommodate him. He licked his lips, staring between the darker cheeks of his son's ass, before pulling out completely.

He didn't do _slow._ Connor would find that out as Haytham pulled back completely, tip of his head barely against him before slamming the heavy, thick girth that he was straight inside of his son, only to repeat less than seconds later.

Fast and hard was the only pace he knew.

-=-=-=-

"I've no lube, you'll manage."

… Connor blinked. Ho now, wait a minute-!

His face was shoved into the sheets and immediately he felt pressure, hard unrelenting pressure, until it breached through. A sharp flare of pain had him jerk over the sheets as he felt himself forced to widen around the thick, invading length, It burned, it fucking burned, as bad as he had expected it to be, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with.

He knew he had no choice but to bite through it and wait for it to pass, to die down and be replaced by something better, but it would have been easier – better even – if Haytham at least allowed him a moment to adjust. That seemed too much to ask for though, all he could do now was bare through it, shaking as he was filled more and more. His fingers scrabbled and yanked at the sheets, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned loudly until finally, _finally,_ he felt his father's hips press against him, indicating that he had finally pushed in all the way. Good timing too, Connor didn't think he could take much more of the heavy pressure inside of him. It was bordering on 'too much, too rough'.

Panting harshly he relaxed slightly but he had only about a handful of seconds to enjoy the fact that Haytham wasn't moving. The sheets swallowed up his loud yelp as his father pulled out, barely waiting before slamming his hips forward, and Connor felt himself pushed forward over the sheets by the force of it.

“J-jesus, give me a m-moment!” he snapped as he quickly reached out and braced his hand against the wall, not really fancying the idea of knocking his head in just because his dick of a father couldn't be bothered to wait for a few seconds longer.

He tilted his hips slightly, feeling tears begin to well behind his eyelids – if he could at least get the angle right, preferably sooner rather than later, that would make this whole thing a lot better!

-=-=-=-

"J-jesus, give me a m-moment!" He stilled, but not because of the request. Connor's tone hinted at pain, and through his drunken haze he briefly reminded himself that the boy was fairly inexperienced. Self professed, he hadn't done this with another man in some time either.

He watched him adjust with an exhale, placing hands against the wall before a poor attempt at angling his hips was made. This wouldn't do.

A large hand traced the underside of his son's stomach as he spread his own legs wider. Modifying his position, pressing his abdominals, his chest, his broad body over the expanse of Connor's back, he rolled his hips once, twice, a couple of times while searching, stilling when he heard a mewl. There.

Kissing a spot on his back, Haytham locked his arm around Connor's hips, careful to avoid the one injury but not exactly gentle; he didn't make love. But he wasn't one to cause pain, not intentionally.

It didn't prevent him from thrusting, nor pulling back to once again admire the ass stretching beneath him to accommodate his girth. Spot in mind, his free hand tangled into Connor's hair, urging him forward as he thrust hard once more, aim targeted to hit the small bundle of nerves inside of him.

The sight of his back arching and body tightening was nothing short of erotic, muscles around him clamping. Haytham picked up his pace, confident in the mutual pleasure it brought. Every thrust brought a new rush of searing heat, every bit of tightness unrelenting. Silken muscles coaxed him into orgasm, a battle he felt himself starting to loose, his thrusts quickening and pace beyond fast, that brutal form of sensuality returning to him.

He warned him, if only because it was imminent and he hadn't the desire to fight it off. "Close."

-=-=-=-

O-oh, better, much better. He breathed out in relief, grateful for the pause and allowed his father to change his position slightly changing the angle even more. The next time he pushed forward, his aim was head-on. 

Connor quickly lost himself in the building pleasure, letting it chase away the burning pain from before. It still wasn't gentle, it seemed that Haytham couldn't do gentle, but this... this he could handle.  
While rough and fast, hard and deep, it was enjoyable and before long Connor was actively rutting back against him, meeting his thrusts, clenching muscles trying to hold him as deep as possible.

Even so, it couldn't chase away the painful throb in his hip, which was slowly but steadily getting worse as he stayed in this position, being pushed back and forth on the sheets as the muscles of his thighs were beginning to shake with the strain of holding him up against the relentless pounding. Arching his back Connor bit down on his forearm, digging his teeth into his own skin in a futile attempt to muffle his cries, and spread out his knees to lower himself closer to the mattress. He stretched out his left leg behind him, easing up the strain in his hip until he was down on his stomach, keeping his other leg folded underneath him to keep himself stretched. Ah, much better...

This close to the mattress his own erection brushed against the sheets with every thrust; he hadn't even noticed he had grown hard a second time and now, suddenly aware of it, all his senses seemed to enhance. He could taste blood, having pierced his skin with his own teeth but right now he couldn't care less. Shuddering as Haytham grunted in his ear, informing him that he was close, Connor turned his head away from his arm, and flashed him a bloody smirk. He was close too, he could feel it, but there was no way he would let this opportunity to jab at his father pass.

“S-stamina not w-what it used to b-be, eh old man?”

-=-=-=-

A bloody, toothy smirk, and Haytham smiled. Smart ass, he'd let him have that one.

Verbally anyway. He let go of Connor's hips in favor of slapping him on the ass, hard enough to jolt him forward slightly. He ignored the glare in favor of a few hard thrusts, the building pressure in his abdomen and blood pounding in his ears as loud as the lewd slap of flesh on flesh. A fresh sheen of sweat dotted both of them, a small tremor running up Haytham's spine as the pressure built. He hated cumming first, but he found it couldn't be helped.

Eyes shut as a shuddering breath left him, hips thrusting as hard as they could, desperately, ferociously, as his son's body got the better of him. He came with biting his lip, brow furrowed in pleasure and hid his face in his forearm out of habit. Mask in place, always. Pleasure could be as much weakness as pain.

Still he indulged in his orgasm and rolled his hips as he tensed and relaxed, cum leaving him in spurts. Buried deep in Connor, in his son, Haytham orgasmed long and hard, only dropping his arm as he fought to regain his breath, breathing ragged and heart erratically beating, loud in his own ears.

He fought not to let himself fall over, tracing a pattern into the ass cheek beneath him before pulling out to lay on his side. The one hand in dark hair remained, a powerful grip turning into strokes. And for a moment, Haytham would remain unhaunted by the relative silence.

-=-=-=-

Hm, what? No reply? No smart ass remark, or an insult, or an- “Ahh!” Connor blinked owlishly, staring at the wall with wide open eyes... had his father just spanked him? He had, if the throbbing sting was any indication. Connor turned to glare, but Haytham just smirked back at him and upped the force of his thrust; within seconds Connor could do nothing but hold on for dear life as his father worked hard to work them both to completion, the snaps of his hips turning faster and more erratic, less controlled.

He had never gotten used to the feeling of hot, sticky fluid releasing inside of him before, coating his inner walls and today was no exception; he squirmed and twisted as he was held in place, the high-pitched groan he let out bordering on unmanly. He felt his father's cock pulse inside of them, throbbing hotly as Haytham rode out his orgasm.

He whimpered as his father pulled out and flopped down on his side next to him, leaving him teetering on the edge of orgasm himself, his body a shaking mess. He unfolded his other leg and laid down completely, facing his father as he reached down and fondled himself; a few more tugs were all that he needed to push himself over the brink, his shuddering breath hitching in his throat as he pressed his face against Haytham's damp shoulder, catching his release in the palm of his hand.

He was no more than a limp, trembling weight against him, exhausted after two rounds, and now that it was over and the haze of pleasure began ebbing away, all his old aches and discomforts returned, mixing with the fresh ones.

Mainly in his poor ass. Not that it hadn't felt amazing, but god... his poor ass. It was a good thing he already used crutches, he wouldn't have to explain the limp.

-=-=-=-

He should lend him a hand, but watching was nice enough. He was lovely, frotting against the sheets, a bundle of nerves pending orgasm. Connor's face twisted pleasantly, Haytham more than content to stroke his dark hair as he rode through orgasm.

Silence, save for heavy breathing. Haytham himself was damn near exhausted and yet, as the pleasurable ebb of afterglow faded, he realized he'd just bedded his own son. Tipsily, sure, but that... should greatly bother him. It didn't.

_That_ bothered him more, yet his fingers traced damp hair, lips twitching as he examined the drying cum on Connor's bandages. They'd need to be changed again.

He forced himself upright, giving Connor a moment to move before walking to the bathroom. He felt at peace, looking back briefly at the black hair fanned against his pillow, little feather about his bed. He brought the new bandages to the foot of the bed. It was like having Ziio with him.

Swallowing thickly at the thought, grey eyes averted. Fingers tapped a foot. "You'll want me to change these, up lad." He already knew, a few hours from now, that this too would be blamed solely on him.

He'd enjoy the brief peace while it lasted, no matter if built on falsity.

-=-=-=-

Connor grumbled and shifted his foot away. He didn't want to get up, fuck no. He was tired, he felt heavy and sated and he wanted to sleep and those bandages could be changed tomorrow and... ugh...

Sighed he rolled onto his back and blinked sleepily at his father, staring at the roll of bandages he held before he pushed himself up. A sharp flare of pain shot up his spine and he hissed, eyebrows scrunching together and he reached back, pressing his hand against his lower back. He liked sex, but this was the big downside of it. He was aching all over.

His bandages were sticky with more than just sweat. He really needed a shower as well, but... ugh, that could wait until morning. He had more pressing matters right now... like the fact that he had just slept with his father. He wasn't really sure how he felt about that yet. Bothered, probably, or angry, or... disgusted perhaps?

The thing was, Haytham had never felt like a true dad to him. He was his father by blood, and on paper, but honestly he was nothing more than the man who had dated his mother, starting as a stranger that had appeared into his life. Their relationship, whatever it was, didn't _feel_ like a father-son relation.

It was... confusing.

And what did his father think? Had it really been just the alcohol, or something else? Did Haytham regret doing this, so shortly after mom's funeral? For fuck's sake, they had been lovers, betrothed even and not even a handful of hours after burying her, they... they...

That bothered him a lot more than the fact that they were related... What had he been just now? A quick lay? A way to forget his mom? 

A replacement?

Or a way to help? Connor didn't know anymore...

-=-=-=-

Connor's wince made him smirk. That was probably horrible, wasn't it? To smirk at being a literal ache in his son's backside. He smirked regardless, until the silence became an uncomfortable weight.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what his son was thinking. Haytham undid the bandages quickly, reapplying the new ones in silence. He glanced at his son, tilting his chin upwards so their eyes met.

"… It helped. I miss her, but no longer have the urge to drink myself into a stupor." He paused, lips twitching. "It's a base, primal instinct. It doesn't change our feelings. It was... convenient, we both suffer similarly and could relate. That's all." He set to the bandages once more, unconvinced.

Soft skin, like her. Dark hair, like hers. A few freckles, that necklace... it screamed Ziio. He rather liked it.

He moved about the bed nothing like her, in no way carried himself like her verbally, but the small comforts were more than noticed, appreciated. He knew very well that technically, he was replacing her, unable to move on so he was creating another through his son. He knew it to be true, glancing into her eyes. Those eyes on another being.

"I'm surprised you aren't blaming me yet." He'd expected as much, and he finished the bandages with a nod, grabbing Connor's long discarded pants and tossing them to the bed. "Thanks for that."

-=-=-=-

“Ah...” He had been right then. It had helped. Well... alright, that he could deal with. After all, he had told his father that he'd help if he could, and it wasn't like this was hurting anyone.

Even if it happened again but he wasn't sure if he wanted that. He'd have to really think about it first.

The fresh bandages made him feel a little better. He caught the pants and stared down at them; he knew that putting them on would be too much of a hassle, especially since he would take them off again anyway once he reached his own bed.  
“Blaming you for what?” he asked and reached for his crutches, avoiding looking his father in the eye. “I didn't exactly say no, did I? I didn't make an effort to stop it from happening.”

Bracing the crutches against the floor he took a deep breath and then stood up with a wince, his pants draped over his arm. “Don't thank me for anything just yet, dad... good night.” With that he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, not looking back as he limped through the hall. Reaching his own room he closed the door behind him and locked it, not wanting to take any chances. He needed to be alone for a while.

There was no sense in taking a shower now, no matter how tempting it was to soak in the tub for a while; if those bandages got wet they would have to be replaced _again._ A wet towel would have to do; he wiped most of the dried sweat and other fluids away, paying special attention between his legs and glanced down; there were a few specks of red on the plush material of the towel but that wasn't really surprising – Haytham had been rather rough with him, but it wasn't enough to give a reason for concern.   
Tossing the towel in the hamper Connor dragged his feet back to his bed, more than happy to crawl under the soft covers. What he needed right now was rest, lots of it, to sleep the remaining haze of alcohol away and to clear his mind from everything that had transpired today.

Tomorrow he would think about how to go from here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lighter chapter as opposed to the previous one. If the time-skip between this chapter and the previous one seems sudden it's because originally it was supposed to be only a month, but Girlsloveyaoi and me both did a big Writing No-No by pausing half-way through this chapter because we were desperate to write chapter 9, 10 and 11 and we fucked up a little :P It ended up working in the end though, but there you go.
> 
> No major warnings for this chapter, except incest (wheeeee!). We'll save the really big warnings for Huge Plot Point Number 2 in chapter 9 ;) (if you thought chapter 5 was an emotional roller coaster you have another one coming, 9 is a lot worse).
> 
> If you see any html errors please let me know; I do all the editing alone and it's hard to keep track of it all. Enjoy! Thanks for reading, and thanks for all the comments and kudos so far! We love you guys! ;A;

They should know better than to wake him by now. In fact they did. William, however, insisted. They should say no, but saying no to the co-founder of their enterprise wasn’t wise. William may have offered more smiles than Haytham, but the threats were as real. Drawing straws, Church lost the battle, Hickey and Pitcairn shoving him forth as he wearily eyed the door to Haytham's office. Haytham’d been sleeping in the the office somewhat less as of late, but it made him no less irritable.

The first knock, and Church swore he heard _growling._ The second string of knocks and he jumped back, waiting. Nothing. There was nothing.

For a moment Church sighed, leaning against the door and looked at Hickey and Church with a look of relief in his eyes before speaking to William, his eyes forever twinkling. “Guess he’s not in-”

The door opened, Church’s body dragged through like something from a horror movie, a scream of terror piercing their air before it slammed shut. And through the door was the muffled pleading, “Pl-please, Haytham, William sent me, it was William! HAVE MERCY!”

Silence, before the door opened again, Haytham introducing Church to the adjacent wall via his face. Clouded grey blearily searched about, Pitcairn and Hickey stepping back. William’s smile never left as he stepped forward.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

A gruff reply, and Haytham left the door open, disheveled hair falling about his face as he adjusted the blanket around his shoulders. “I hate you.”

He stepped over the seemingly dazed Church, shutting the door behind him. “Yes, yes.”

“What. do. you. want?” The line from his pillow marked his cheek, Haytham laying back down across his couch, snuggling up to his pillow. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s nine, Haytham.”

“I was up at six.”

“And whose fault is that?” His eye twitched. William readied coffee, streaming hot water from water boiler, steam gathering quickly as removed an instant coffee packet and a sugar from his pocket. “I needed to discuss something.”

“Clearly.” Haytham accepted the spoon and cup, stirring as he sat up, William taking a seat beside him.

“I know the last few months have been hard on you, but I need to ask for a favor.” Haytham gestured vaguely, William continuing. “As you may know, the media and public loves a man who makes appearances at charitable events-”

“Because trying to cure cancer isn’t enough.” 

“Be that as it may, the public wants to see your softer side.” Blue eyes twinkled, head resting in his hand. “It wouldn’t hurt to take a day off and indulge them. Just for a singular event.”

“Not interested.”

“It would greatly help your reputation.”

“My reputation suits me.” 

William hesitated, folding his fingers together in his lap. Haytham stopped, wearily. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

“... They want to see you and Connor, Haytham. Together.” 

Haytham brushed away the guilty feeling that crept up. While Connor and he were on speaking terms, they didn’t do so often; Haytham still spent a few nights of the week at work, and most of his time was invested in such. It’s who he was, he’d always been a man of his duties. The only person to cause him exception was six feet in the ground.

He shook of the thought, staring straight ahead. Not a day went by, where she wasn’t on his mind.

“This is difficult, I know. But, perhaps an opportunity to bond between the two of you.” Gently, he pressed a few memos into Haytham’s free hand. “Here’s a few that aren’t horrible, and it would keep the media off my back.” Which would be nice for a day, considering the frenzies he’d dealt with ever since the horrible accident. He wouldn’t bother his friend with the details, it wasn’t necessary; but the punch to the face and subsequent settlements, coupled with near curious uproar was almost overwhelming. They needed some good press, a family moment to portray their organization in a proper light.

“William?” He blinked, the twinkle returning to his eyes. Haytham remained silent, examining his friend. Nothing more was said between them, Haytham sighing as he looked over the first paper, nonchalantly folding them neatly and pressing them into his pants pocket. “... I don’t want to hear about anymore fundraisers and the like for the next year.”

“Three months.

“Nine months.”

“Six months.”

“Mm.” With a nod, William pat his shoulder, smiling. “Ziio would be happy.”

His lips twitched, just for a moment. Yes, perhaps she would be.

~*~

He arrived home later that evening, taking his time in the shower and waiting for Connor to get home. He hadn't spoken to him in a couple of days, sticking to a quick text here or there. He wrung out his hair with a sigh, dressing comfortably and toweling his hair dry. How did one go about asking this, anyway? 'Hey Connor, spend some time with me because your dead mom- my to be wife who I tried to replace with you sexually- would want us to. Also, charity.'

That was uncouth even for _him._ He almost hampered the letters, removing them in the last moment and placing them on the counter, reacquainting himself with an opened bottle of chilled wine.

Oh the joys of awkward fatherhood. Sleeping with his son didn't make anything more difficult, surprisingly- but it didn't make things easier either.

-=-=-=-

“Ugh, those guys... no respect.” Myriam glare of death could be terrifying indeed, the way she narrowed her eyes over the wheel of her car, staring at the handful of news reporters who literally sat hiding in the bushes and kept their eyes and camera lenses aimed on the double front doors of the apartment building.

Neither he nor his father had been eager to show their faces in front of a camera since the accident, Connor especially... but those guys just didn't seem to know when to give up. Life of a celebrity _sucked!_  
Even now, over six months after the funeral, they were still aching for a chance to shoot some photos and fire off some questions, though ever since his father had punched one in the face they gave Haytham a wider range of berth whenever he left for work or came back. 

Not him though, no. Which was why Myriam had offered to drive him to and back from school every day, no questions asked. It was a little... awkward, to have a girl stand up for him like that and 'protect' him from the reporters (his ego definitely had a problem with it) but she meant well and he understood that too. So he let it happen, at least until things died down enough he could go out again without getting swarmed.

Originally he had only taken up her offer to drive him because when his doctor had declared him healthy enough to go back to school again, he still lacked a car of his own, and on principle he still refused to ask his dad to pay for one. And while he hadn't needed crutches anymore, the bus hadn't been favorable either. Of course he had been declared fully healed months ago, but Myriam had made it clear she didn't mind driving him from and to school every day, and Connor wasn't going to tell her no, if only because she was his best friend and it helped getting the paparazzi vultures off his back.

Things between him and Haytham still hadn't improved much. He was gone most of the time and still spent half the nights in his office, but at least things hadn't gotten worse either. The sex... they had both unanimously blamed it on the alcohol and the stress and emotions of the day. After that neither of them had brought it up again, and both pretended it had never even happened in the first place. Though strangely enough, when he had sobered up enough the following day, he hadn't felt as disturbed or disgusted by the fact he had let his _father_ fuck him of all people . Perhaps it was because Haytham had never felt like a father figure to him, and he still didn't... just someone who had appeared into his life not for him, but for Ziio. A stranger. They weren't even friends, not even now.   
There had been a time when the mere idea of his father naked had disgusted him beyond belief, but that was... before. Before the accident. Before his mother's death. Things had changed drastically, and whether or not they were for the better, Connor still hadn't figured out.

Connor still thought about it at times though, sometimes it was hard not to. Sometimes he still caught himself eying his father when he wasn't looking.

“It's okay.” he told Myriam as he unbuckled his seat belt. “I'll be through the doors before they even know it.”

“This shit should be illegal. What about your right for privacy? They're stalking you!”

“Well, technically they're stalking my father, he's much more interesting to them. I'm just a bonus.”

“Connor-”

“See you tomorrow. Thanks for the ride.” Closing the car door behind him a quick glance over his shoulder already saw the hiding reporters getting in action. Smirking Connor raised his right hand and flipped them the bird, holding it long enough until he saw the flash of a camera and then waved at Myriam, who rolled her eyes at his behavior. Ah well, he was entitled to a little bit of fun, no?

~*~

The lights inside the hallway were on, much to Connor's confusion as he unlocked the door and stepped inside Haytham's apartment. Dad was already home then? Glancing at the clock he frowned... huh, early.

“Dad?” he called out as walked into the living room and dumped his school bag on the table, his eyes falling on a small pile of memos. Curiosity piqued he picked them up and quickly skimmed over them, recognizing William's handwriting. They were various ideas for charity and fund raising events Haytham had apparently been invited to. Most of them sounded pretty damn boring, even if the goal of the event was good... no wonder his dad hated these events, even they were all- oooh! “Paintball?”

-=-=-=-

He'd heard him come in, frowning at the clock. Wasn't that a bit late? Or perhaps it was early? Maybe if he dared to spend a few nights at home he'd know.

Haytham shook off the thought, placing the lap top aside and emerged from his bedroom, pajama pants low on his hips and tank top tight. He felt awkward, walking around shirtless after everything that had transpired.

An elegant eyebrow rose in question. Indeed, a glance over his sons shoulder and he read quickly. A benefit to support the children of deployed and returning troops. By way of paintball?

Interesting method, but not nearly as droll as the others.

"Evidently I'm to invite you to an event to keep the press from hounding William to death. Had he mentioned I could bring a gun a may have conceded earlier." Granted it was a paintball gun but a gun was a gun. The past month had been more than straining; blowing off steam by shooting a few paint balls at what would hopefully be some annoying colleagues? It sounded pleasant.

"I left it to your choosing. I doubt you've acquired a taste for opera, and the rest seemed droll." He paused, still looking over Connor's shoulder. A long line of smooth, dark skin invaded his vision. Dark hair invited his touch, the taste of sweat remembered on his tongue. He coughed and averted his eyes forcefully.

"Right then, I'll make the arrangements." Meaning he'd contact William for more information. Four people to a team... like hell if Church would be on his team. Pansy. He played to _win._

He nodded before taking a seat in the living room, if only to get away from the smell of sandalwood. The hardest things were always those left unsaid, that left unsettled. They'd agreed it was the alcohol talking, and Haytham had of course nodded.

He'd also kept his distance. He couldn't lie to himself. Spending a good amount of time in a wooded area with Connor, almost hunting would undoubtedly conjure memories of _Ziio._ He fought a shudder but skin prickled regardless. Avoiding him had been beneficial; out of sight out of mind. This trip would prove to be the death of such notions.

He wasn't overly thrilled to say the least.

-=-=-=-

Connor glanced up, his expression not changing as he looked at what was the most casual outfit he had ever seen his father wear. It was almost unnatural. “Why do I have to go? This is your party, your corporation, your responsibility.”

Ah, but paintball... paintball was _fun._ And yes, it beat the idea of going to a fucking opera. Or a play. Boooooring. Fine then, he'd come along. It didn't sound like Haytham as inviting him because he _wanted_ to, more like, it was a requirement. A publicity stunt maybe. Connor grimaced... his dad was a celebrity, and he hated being a part of it.

He missed the quietness of his old life. It had been a hard life, but he had been happy. Just he and his mom, together, doing what they wanted, not having to worry about what the rest of the world thought because they simply didn't matter. That life was lost forever though.

“Who else is coming?” he asked, but when he got no answer he turned with a frown. Haytham had already left for the living room, and Connor followed after him, the memo in question in his fingers. “Paintball requires a team of four. So who else will we be playing with?” He slumped down in a large leather chair and stared at William's handwriting. There was a date included; three days from now, on a Saturday. He already had plans but Myriam wouldn't mind if he called her off. She'd understand, and even encourage it, the chance for him to bond with his father some more.

“Is William any good with a gun?” It would be fun to have him on the team, if William wanted to anyway. That only left one spot... maybe Hicky or Pitcairn. Paintball didn't seem like it was something Church would enjoy doing. Ugh, he didn't care who filled in the last spot, as long as it wasn't Lee.

-=-=-=-

"Mm. Oh, yes." Dismissively, Haytham picked up his phone and rang William's number. "...Good with a gun? Mm." He tapped his lip, running his finger over the lower one. "He was in the military with me. He still goes hunting, safariing, and the like regularly. If he's half of what he was, I'd still take my chances with him."

He pressed 'call' and waited for William to pick up, notably weary as he put the phone on speaker when he did. 

_"... tell me you're not revoking our deal due to terminal illness or a case of jungle fever?"_

Jungle fever? "Ah, no?" He almost shrugged in Connor's direction. 

_"Did Hickey sexually harass some one again?"_

"What gave it away?" Alright, he wouldn't inquire further. William wasn't one for foul moods. "We need a fourth for our paintball escapade on..." He checked the memo, "… Saturday."

 _"Oh, OH. Great, yes. I'm sure I can make it."_ A pause, and Haytham almost heard him smile. _"So how'd you convince Connor to go?"_

"Ask him, you're on speaker."

 _"Oh! Well hi Connor, hopefully you're well. I'm glad you're coming along-"_ A pause, and William went silent. _"... and glad to see your middle finger is in working order."_

"Pardon?"

_"You'll see tomorrow, Haytham, keep an eye on the newspaper. I'm assuming I'm the third in our little tryst?"_

"Mm."

_"Excellent, I'll let Hickey know-"_

_"Let Hickey know what?"_

A voice of another sort, and William's voice lost it's cheerful edge. _"... It's not of importance to you, Charles."_

Haytham fought the urge to roll his eyes; he could practically see the sparkle of pleasure drain from William's eyes. As of late, the two bickered almost constantly. Lee supported Haytham's desire to keep his business first, and William, well, completely disagreed to say the least. He couldn't speak to one without the other interjecting.

 _"Oh, but I declare it is... surely whomever you're on the phone with will want to consult Haytham before a final decision regarding anything is made._

He spoke before William did, if only to stop the bickering now. "Hello, Charles."

 _"Oh! Haytham, sir. Had I known it was you I'd relay the message without question."_ He could hear the sneer, the jibe at William in his voice.

 _"Yes, well now that you know it's him, tell Hickey to prepare for Saturday-"_ William interrupted.

_"What's Saturday? Something company related? If so, I've a right to know being a share owner."_

"It's for a charitable event for the less fortunate, a custom you don't believe in-"

_"Oh, another Opera? I do love the Operas."_

"… Paintball, we're playing paintball." 

Charles quieted immediately, scoffing. _"Why would Haytham pick paintball?"_

_"He didn't, Connor did. Go away."_

A pause, and Haytham audibly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew what was coming. He knew it before Charles opened his mouth. "Think carefully, Charles. Think before you speak." The pause lingered, and finally, finally Charles spoke up. 

_"It's rather... bourgeois but alright. I'll attend."_

That, Haytham hadn't expected. Neither did William. "You _hate_ paintball. You said it was juvenile dribble."

 _"Yes well, if it's good enough for the_ head _of our company I will partake. Besides, I haven't seen Connor in some time, perhaps we can bond over something."_

On the other side of the line William glared at Charles, immediately jumping to the boy's defense. _"Connor has a phone, if he wished to bond with you he would call you. He doesn't."_

_"Now, now you've no proof of that-"_

_"He doesn't want to bond with you! The only thing that bonds to you is your hair to your sweaty forehead because the grease acts as an adhesive-"_

Haytham sighed. "William! Charles! I'm not going down there to break this... childish squabble apart. Talk it out with Connor, and watch what you say. Both of you." Haytham plopped the phone by his son, shaking his head. He needed a drink.

-=-=-=-

Connor barely caught the phone, balking. He didn't want to talk to Lee! “Dad!” he hissed, but his plea went ignored – fucking bastard, dumping him with this shit. It wasn't his decision to make. Hell, even if it was, he didn't want to make this decision. He didn't want Lee to come along. William, yes, but not Lee!

 _“Connor?”_ William's voice on the other side of the line was questioning, and Connor sighed deeply, rubbing his fingers along the bridge of his nose. Fucking hell...

“Figure it out.” he muttered and he could almost _hear_ William's eyebrows raise. “I'm not your boss.” he elaborated. “And I'm not going to, as dad says it, break apart this childish squabble.” Especially because he did not appreciate Haytham dumping this into his lap. “Sorry William, but whoever takes the fourth spot, you're gonna have to figure that out amongst yourselves.” With that he hung up and tossed the phone on the table. He hoped it wouldn't be Lee, yet he knew that it probably would be him. If only to piss _him_ off.

Ever since the accident Charles has kept his racist comments to himself, but his attitude was still cold towards him. They'd never be friends, not like how he got along with the William, Church, Pitcairn and Hickey, and Connor was fine with that... but yes, maybe... perhaps... maybe there was something he and Lee could talk about, an interest they both shared. Who knew?

Still didn't want him to come though.

Grumbling he stood up and picked up the phone again, moving into the kitchen where he found his father staring at an opened bottle of wine. “Wanna order take-out or something?” he asked as he stuffed the phone into his father's back pocket. “I haven't eaten dinner yet. Or I could just order pizza for myself if you're not hungry.” he shrugged and leaned back against the table, eying the bottle of wine. Was it him or was Haytham drinking more often than he used to?

“I told them to figure it out amongst themselves. It's not my job to solve.” _It's yours,_ but those words were left unsaid.

-=-=-=-

One glass to take the edge off became two. That became three, his tolerance still fairly weak but there was nothing to be done. Between work and home, everything was spiraling out of his control. It didn't bode well with him, and his method of coping wasn't a wise one.

He knew it, spending his time simply looking at the bottle, uncorked and uninviting. No, this wouldn't solve anything. William and Lee would argue, Connor would hate him, Ziio would be dead. Best case scenario, he could forget that for just a few moments.

He almost jumped, the press of fingertips surprising even through fabric as Connor pushed the phone into his pocket. Simply, no one touched him there. His phone was warm, even through the material. She was always cold, Connor always warm, a startling difference.

That's what he would do, focus on their differences until they became two separate entities again.

"… Feel free to roam about the kitchen instead of ordering take out." Honestly, it may be him but the lad looked thinner. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to the boy to refuse to cook.

It wasn't his business. Besides, another difference he could focus on. Haytham nodded once, stopping hesitantly and corked the bottle before turning on heel. "Enjoy dinner. Goodnight son." That's what he was, that's what he would remain. His son, and nothing more.

~*~

He worked almost constantly, returning home early Friday evening to simply catch a bit of sleep. Connor hadn't been in, probably about with Myriam again

No awkward conversations and a plethora of space; it was what Haytham needed. Without the startling similarities staring him in the face, he could go about his day with the ease he once did. The ease he undoubtedly would again.

He woke early, to the sound of nothingness. Six in the morning, almost on the dot. Showering and dressing in what was a uniform acquired from William a day prior, Haytham took the second, equipped with some minor protective padding with him, placing it by a chair in the kitchen before examining the fridge with a frown.

Either the boy solely lived on pop tarts and pizza for fun, or he was to lazy to fix a proper meal. Knowing Connor the way he did- which was not at all- he assumed it was a mixture of both.

Well, he didn't particularly care to live that way.

He also had no idea what his son ate or really liked, a startling thought considering he'd been living here with him for about eight months now. Poptarts, pizza, and mountain dew were the only discernible things he remembered.

Haytham hesitated, before sighing. They'd spend the day together, the ride would take two hours without break. Connor needed to eat something decent, he'd be of no use on the field if he were lacking.

Well, he'd have to settle for chocolate chip french toast with bananas and bacon because Haytham was not making two separate meals. He knocked on the boy's door when it was ready, attempting to sound pleasant. "Lad, breakfast. William and Charles will be hear shortly." And like hell if he was cooking for them. Grown men got their own damn food.

-=-=-=-

The knock startled Connor out of his dreams, Haytham's voice drifting towards him through the door. He mumbled incoherently into his pillow, eyes remaining shut as his head poked out from under the blankets and fumbled around for his alarm clock. Raising it to eye level he blinked at it, needing a whole ten seconds before his sleep-addled brain deciphered the flashing numbers. 7:18.

On a fucking _Saturday._

“No. Nope.” Setting the clock down Connor tossed the blankets over his head again and turned around; it was too fucking early for this shit. On a Saturday he slept until at least 10, and if Haytham still didn't know that yet – then again, why would he know, seeing as he was barely home to begin with?

… the fuck was that smell?

Sitting up he blearily stared at the door, blinking a few times... oh right, something about breakfast.

~*~

Connor appeared in the kitchen five minutes later, still dressed in nothing but his dark blue pajama pants and his bed hair, and looking like he had left half his brain in his bedroom. “The hell are you making?” he asked as he shuffled towards the nearest chair, moving to sit down on it only to find that it was already occupied by a heap of camouflaged-patterned clothing. Oh right... good thing he hadn't bothered to dress yet then.

Moving it to a different chair he flopped down and slowly stretched out his arms and legs, groaning as he felt his shoulders pop, and sagged again. It was too early for this crap. Too early for breakfast, too early for William, definitely too early for Lee and too early for fucking paint ball. He'd feel more awake once he had taken his morning shower, but right now? Nope, too early.

He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep last night, and he blamed Myriam for that. She had kept him up waaaaay too long. Damn girl was insatiable.

-=-=-=-

"The hell are you making?" 

Haytham suppressed the instinctual urge to say, 'It's none of your concern' just barely, setting out an equal amount of food amongst them. Not that he ever ate his full portion. He never had much of an appetite.

Grey eyes glanced over and double took- well he looked like _hell,_ hair about his face, eyes still wrought with sleep, hickey on his neck-

Ah. Well...

"Morning to you too." Syrup and powdered sugar, napkins and silverware, orange juice- everything set. He couldn't help but crunch on a piece of bacon after taking a seat, looking at Connor's neck.

"So, what did you and Myriam do yesterday?" He fought back the smirk, innocently cutting his french toast. "Hopefully it was nothing _too_ strenuous."

He'd yet to gauge how open Connor was, and watched him intently from him peripheral. That and flustering the boy was so very delightful.

-=-=-=-

Not getting an answer? Well fine then. He had yet to decide whether what the hell Haytham had prepared for breakfast smelled good or not.

Honestly, he hated this kitchen. It was too big, too grand, too... too... intimidating. He didn't know how to cook and he wasn't ashamed to admit it; in that regard, Ziio had spoiled him rotten, always preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner for him whenever she was able to.

He doubted he could even properly prepare an egg without fucking up it up somehow, to blowing up the kitchen while he was doing it. Usually he ate at Myriam's place, or ordered take-out or pizza, or took a trip to the McDonalds. 

He missed home cooked meals and while he knew that Haytham knew his way around the kitchen, it simply wasn't the same, nor did he want any of it.

The question nearly caught him off guard and he paused, his hand hovering over a large piece of bacon as he brain attempted to process the question; um hello, that was none of your business?   
Of course Haytham didn't know... the question was innocent enough. Hell, even the way he had worded it was innocent enough... for the most part. The second sentence was a bit too obvious and Connor didn't miss it. Maybe Haytham had a hunch?

Feeling the blush creep onto his cheeks Connor picked up the bacon and bit down on it angrily. He could ignore the question and refuse to answer, but that would just make things even more obvious for his father – like the blush wasn't doing that already, dammit!

Yet all out admitting it wasn't his thing either... ugh, his father was such a fucking troll! Dammit... swallowing Connor drummed his fingers on the table and flashed his eyes up at Haytham's face, gritting his teeth and sighed. Fine then. Two could play this game. “Well you see,” he began as he dropped his bacon on his plate and laced his fingers together, resting them on the table as he blinked at his father. “When a boy and a girl like each other very much...”

-=-=-=-

Of course, the tell tale signs of flush blossomed. Well, well Connor. His lack of experience lying and in the bedroom were intoxicatingly amusing. He'd stop drinking had this been an option sooner. It brought so much more satisfaction.

And still he thought, much to Haytham's amusement, for a time about how he would answer.

Suffice to say, a pathetic let down categorized it perfectly. "Mm. The concept seems familiar somehow." Another bite of his french toast- oh he was a perfect chef- and he chewed, resting his chin in his hand. "What about two men who don't like one another? Is there an anecdote for that?"

Eyelashes fluttered as his son sputtered, Haytham's face blissfully blank, save for the twitch of his lips. "No need at attempting a coherent response, lad. You needn't injure yourself further, wracking that 'brain' of yours for a response." He gestured to his own neck, about the spot where the mark was.

"The pull out method doesn't work. Use protection. That's all." He no longer tolerated the idea of grandchildren. Not with Ziio gone.

His lips twitched, and he blinked. He pushed his mostly full plate aside with what was a sad glance. She'd never leave him alone, would she?

"Help yourself, I'll need you at your best." Wordlessly, he left the kitchen in favor of the living room. His dark hair and her eyes, that blasted necklace... no, no matter how far he stayed away, it would always lead to this.

-=-=-=-

…

How had that... a rather simple not-so-innocent-but-innocent-enough conversation, turned to... this?

To mom?

Because that's what this was about now, even if her name hadn't been mentioned out loud. It had been eight months. Connor had learned to cope with the loss. Of course he still missed her terribly and not a day went by where he didn't long to the life he used to have, before everything had gone so... wrong... but he had learned to move on, simply because he didn't have a choice. It seemed that that was something that was much harder to do for his father.

He stared at the two plates, his own and Haytham's, both still mostly full. His own appetite had left him as well. He needed it, especially for what they were to do today, but... he doubted he could manage to swallow any of it now anyway. 

He sighed and stood up, taking the two plates and dumping their contents into the trash before piling them into the sink to clean later.  
William and Lee would be here soon, he'd best get ready...

The shower was a quick one, though it was hard to resist the temptation to stay under the hot spray for hours, letting the water beat down on his back and wash everything away.  
He toweled off quickly and put on the paintball uniform his father had readied for him. He had barely finished tying his hair back into place when the doorbell rang, and Connor hurried out of the bathroom, yelling in the general direction of the living-room that he'd get it and swiftly unlocked the door.

“Connor! Good morning!” William's cheery morning greet was almost infectious as he opened the door and looked at the two men already dressed up for today's event. Lee looked absolutely ridiculous and uncomfortable in his uniform, and Connor felt his lips twitch.

Ahum. 

“Morning.”

“Where's Haytham?” William asked and rose up onto his toes to peek over Connor's shoulder into the hallway. “Haytham! If you're ready we should go, don't wanna be late!”

Connor stepped aside to let them in and closed the door behind Lee as William already bounced off towards the living room.

“Haytham told me that you're a skilled hunter.” Lee said, though the tone of his voice didn't make it sound like a compliment, nor did the way he was staring at him down his nose, hands clasped behind his back, help make it sound nice. His whole posture screamed 'I'm-better-than-you'. “With a bow no less. I do hope you know how to handle a gun though, boy.”

Connor simply turned his back on the man and shrugged, moving off towards the living room as well. “Every moron can handle a paintball gun. Clearly the only one you should be worrying about is yourself.”

-=-=-=-

He couldn't say how long he sat there for. An extended length of time, or perhaps simply a few seconds. It seemed inconsequential now. He'd never been one to wonder what could have been, and he certainly wouldn't begin such lunacy now.

But why this happened, who was responsible, and the void it had left were all to real. It hurt to miss someone like this. Spending twenty years trying to move on, only to finally have what you want... but it vanished from his grasp yet again. A flurry of thoughts, and Haytham only wanted the voices that pestered him to halt.

"Haytham! If you're ready we should go, don't wanna be late!"

"Of course." Williams eyes dimmed, just for a moment, studying his friends posture. He knew better than to ask.

It's not like the world didn't know.

"Hey... there's a bunch of reporters outside."

"I'm sure." 

Gun in hand, William cleared his throat. "They're anxious for photo's." He hesitated, a flicker in his eyes. "Sort of brutish, they're being awfully pushy."

A flicker of grey and an eyebrow raised, William toying with the top of his gun. "I don't condone aggressive action, but perhaps... if you've your usual strength about you, a show of sorts may deflect attention." Lips twitched, upwards for a change.

Whatever conversation Charles and Connor were having could continue in the car. "Bicker later." As if there was any doubt what they were doing, Charles looking pompous if not out of place. Eyebrows raised, and William clasped a hand over Connor's shoulder, grin madly. "You're father was a bit of a mad bastard back in our military days." A pause and he grinned widely, pushing both he and Charles out of the apartment and walking them toward the elevator. The third floor should do.

Haytham's face portrayed not a thing as William opened a window at the end of the hallway and smirked. "Sure you're up to thi-"

Haytham was out of the window in seconds, hanging from his hands, and lowered his helmet with a wink.

Behind William Charles bristles, eyes wide. "No, Haytham, you're an executive. There's no need to partake in such juvenile behavior!"

"It's not juvenile, it's amusing." A blank helmet, and he saluted his son from the window, descending.

Hands grasped the ornamental decoration, the ornate fixtures providing perfect leverage to swing and descend. He could hear them from below, a few gasps and surprised shouts, hand catching a sill before he allowed himself to plummet slightly, bare hands scratching against stone.

He hadn't felt this good in sometime.

"Back flip into the bush!" A blink, and twinkling blue eyes gleamed down at him. "Unless you're incapable you old, mad bastard."

"You'll be eating those words, William." Barely a whisper, a smirk covering his lips as he looked around his surroundings. This had gotten more strenuous since he last attempted it, not hard but harder. And even so, it was a thrill.

Strong legs encompassed the head of a gargoyle, Haytham maybe three feet from the floor. His thighs clenched and gripped the statue, as he leaned backward, simply hanging upside down, dawned in camo and a helmet, his gun strapped to his back before he extended his arms and used his abs to swing, gaining momentum.

He landed on his feet, hand bracing the sidewalk as the reporters remained in a flurry around him, too shocked to take pictures. He removed his gun from his back and cocked it once.

Half of them fled, words of terror on their lips.

From above, William clapped Charles and Connor's shoulders, eyes twinkling. "Well worth the paper work I'll have to fill out. Shall we, then? He remains such an impressive man."

Said impressive man was trying desperately to not pick at the wedgie he now sported. Haytham sighed, waiting for a moment when he'd be in the clear. Blasted bunching boxers.

-=-=-=-

Seriously?

/Seriously?!/

Connor's eyes were still on the window even as William dragged him towards the elevator to take them down to ground level..

Had he really just... witnessed his father... climbing through he window and down the fucking wall?!

He still felt a little dazed as they walked outside, Lee pushing open the door and glancing around for any remaining news reporters; there were still a few, but they kept their distance.   
“I guess I will have to take responsibility for the restaurant bill once we're done with the event, it seems.” William said as they reached a slightly uncomfortable looking Haytham, and clapped him on the shoulder. “You old dog, I can't believe you actually did that.”

Connor just rolled his eyes. It was official... his father was insane. Not impressive. _Insane!_

 _Yeah, and you climb trees,_ the little nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered to him, and Connor gritted his teeth, pushing the voice away. It was not the same! It was almost embarrassing to be associated with him now.

He quickly slipped into the backseat of William's car, keeping his head down in case someone tried to take a picture anyway, and he wasn't quite sure if he was glad or not that his father took the seat next to him.  
Ah, it beat having to sit next to Lee during the two-hour-ride, he took the passenger seat in the front.

He breathed out slowly and stroked his fingers over the muzzle of his paintball gun. He wasn't looking forward to it... something would fuck up, he just knew it.

-=-=-=-

"I'm not old, I age with the valor of the finest of wines." Connor stared at him as if he had just sprouted a third head. Ah well, he had enjoyed that, even if Charles and Connor may not have.

The helmet stayed on, and he fought against sitting with William, who would have doubtlessly aided in pleasant conversation, to sitting next to his son. Who'd rather blend into the back seat, but that was just as well.

"Now that that's out of your system, to the business of the company as of late-" 

William frowned. "Charles, we're on an outing _for_ the company. We know of the state of it."

"Well Haytham may be unaware of the merger that happened late yesterday evening between a rival company due to his..." and there was a significant hint of distaste in his voice. Haytham remained neutral under his helmet. 

"… early departure." Charles finished.

"I'm fully aware of the merger, Charles, I received all three of your emails this morning." He lifted the helmet with a frown. "My early departure wasn't exactly early, I left when the office actually closed." As opposed to staying overnight, but that went without saying.

"I'm not placing blame, rest was required when partaking in a... sport of this caliber." The words were venom on his tongue. "An opera may have prevented such a quandary, allowing for both to be accomplished. Operas have the air of..." And there was no denying how his eyes examined Connor in the mirror, taking in his feathers, his mohawk. "Class."

"Dully noted." It sounded anything but, Haytham lighting up suddenly. "We're calling body part shots."

"Yes!" William turned around at the light, looking between the two men in the back seat. "There's for rounds, we can each pick a body part. Though I can guess what you'll pick."

"Head." It was unanimous , from Charles, William, and Haytham. In complete neutrality he asked, fingering the paintballs. "Connor? A shot in mind? "

"A bow and arrow is far different than a gun." Lee reclined comfortably, cockily. "Let's just hope he hits the target or looses quickly so we may leave."

"Shooting a bow is harder than shooting a gun." Two pairs of surprised eyes met his, Haytham looking at a spot on Connor's shoulder. "I should know. As I said, Connor, a body part of choice?" They still had time to kill, he'd make this trip as close to pleasant as possible.

-=-=-=-

Opera was boring as fuck. That was what Connor wanted to say out loud, but it would only prove Lee's point. So he let them bicker, remaining quiet in his corner of the car, brushing off flecks of dried paint from his gun as he stared at the scenery flashing by.

"A bow and arrow is far different than a gun. Let's just hope he hits the target or looses quickly so we may leave." Brows eyes flicked up and locked with Lee's pale green in the mirror, and opened his mouth to reply, but Haytham beat him to it.

… was that a compliment? He blinked slowly, turning his head in favor of staring at his father with a slightly surprised look in his eyes, and absently rubbed the small scar on his shoulder. He shrugged. “Head works for me.” he muttered and glanced at Charles again as he reached into his bag and pulled out his music player and ear buds. At the end of the final round he'd make sure to shoot him in another place where it counted.

Two hours and a couple of dozen songs later and William finally pulled up on the parking lot. Again, news reporters had already gathered, as well as a lot of other people but it was to be expected this time; this was a charitable event after all.

And now that they had finally arrived, Connor started feeling that itch of excitement bubbling up; they were in the wood and he got to shoot things; they were just people instead of animals and he couldn't kill them, but it could still be fun. He didn't know what they're strategy was going to be, they didn't even know who they would be playing against but either way he'd leave it to his dad and the others. No doubt they would want to decide how to do this. Whatever their strategy was though... as long as he could use the trees. He could provide perfect cover from there.

-=-=-=-

It was a pleasant ride for the most part, Connor electing to blast music, no doubt to drone out the bickering between William and Charles. He was envious he couldn't do the same.

Naturally reporters would line up the moment they arrived, though certainly not just for him. Other celebrities, millionaires, entrepreneurs and the like did show, as expected. Haytham lowered his helmet before exiting, choosing a more secluded spot.

"Winning means a donation of five hundred thousand to the foundation of our choosing on their roster." He eyes William and Charles, Charles swatting what seemed to be an imaginary gnat.

"I say we match it." Two nods, and Haytham stood up tall, examining the competition. They didn't look like much, really. Save for one group... Who had decided to shave their heads, completely. And something screamed inappropriate at the third Reich symbol on their forehead.

"That's a way to honor veterans." Sarcasm lay thick on William's tongue, although Charles neglected to comment, simply spectating.

"Team name is Ursa Major," Haytham's eyes flickered to Connor's bear claw necklace but he remained emotionless. "The color is red, the band on our left arm will identify us. Now, as for positioning." The took the time to stroll through the territory as everyone readied themselves. A couple of ponds, a steep canopy, and long hill and a shallow ravine.

"William, trench. Charles, flank by the ponds. Connor, canopy, preferably over our flag."

"You'll be by me in the ponds then, yes?" 

Haytham contemplated, before nodding his head. "Whistle if you need me, otherwise I'll be capturing everyone else's flags. If this takes more than three hours I'll be disappointed. No one else can win..." His ears picked up the laughter of two of the men with shaven heads, their white robe like attire making his teeth grind. "Especially _them."_ He would not loose to some back woods bigots. Who invited them was beyond him, he couldn't fathom anyone so blatantly stupid.

"Alright, we'll brief and resume our position here. Again, if the need arises for my assistance, whistle."

… And from there it should have been damn simple. Should have been.

Drenched in sweat, hair sticking to the nape of his neck, Haytham squatted in the cold creek, back to a tree. William had lasted quite a while, eventually over run and shot for the simple fact that Charles would not stop calling him.

Every two _seconds._

His aim was absolutely pathetic, he complained about being sticky every four seconds and if Haytham heard the lines 'we should've went to the opera' one more time, he'd shoot Charles himself.

How he managed to survive this long was beyond him.

The one saving grace had to be Connor.

He ran about the tress in a rush so chaotic yet utterly well timed... it was a sight to see. He'd never imagined anyone could out run Ziio...but there he was, darting about with ease. He protected the flag well, and actually maintained his post. Good soldier. He would have done well in the military save for his mouth.

"We should concede. There's only that one group left." Charles stood panting next to him and Haytham glared at the enemy team. Yes, the one who insisted an wearing a lovely symbol on the top of their helmet, stating it was a 'free country.' How convenient to let them win.

"No." Haytham didn't even hesitate and looked up at the canopy. It had been a while, now. "I'm checking on Connor."

"Haytham-"

"Charles, for God's sakes, just shoot a person and stop the madness." He wasn't nearly as good at this as Ziio... granted she showed him the basic points years ago but it was hardly to her caliber. Let alone Connor's. Leaving Charles to his own devices he ran off, in search for his son.

It took him time, a long time to get to where the flag was, body resting on a thicker branch in his exhaustion. Where the hell was Connor?

… Wait, was that Charles? Yes, it was with... a member of the other team? No wonder he couldn't find the flag, he was carrying it on him! Seething, Haytham watched Charles surrender, grabbing his gun and counting the rest of his paint balls.

Four members, only three pellets left.

God damn it he wasn't going to loose to these assholes!

A very soft rustle, and he looked up, spotting Connor in an adjacent tree, mask lifted and watching the sight before him in rage.

… Well then, this could work.

He tossed an acorn his way, garnering Connor's attention and lifted his own mask, holding out the three paint balls he had left and motioning to them below, a wicked smile crossing his face as he mouthed: Which head would you prefer to shoot?

-=-=-=-

Connor glanced at the other team talking with Charles and grimaced. Fucking traitor... traitors deserved to be shot, he'd get what was coming to him. Hoisting the strap of his gun over his shoulder he sat up straight and moved towards the tree Haytham sat in, silently but swiftly, and raised his eyebrow at him.

 _How the hell did you get up here?_ was the question he wanted to ask, but he pushed it to the back – he could always ask later – and turned his attention on their targets again. “I'm nearly out.” he said and glanced at his father's gun; he only had three paint balls left. He'd have to make this count. “William's out?” A nod and he sighed. Dammit... just the two of them left then. “I have eleven balls left.” And he wasn't going to let his father take all the damn credit.

One team member stood with Charles. The second was a little further away, half hidden behind a low wall and keeping a watch on the surrounding area for any suspicious activity.

“Okay, you take out those two. You can save your last paint ball for Lee once we've won.” Connor jabbed his thumb over his shoulder and picked up his gun again. “I have to get back. The other two are further to the left and I think they're planning a simultaneous attack on our flag by attacking from both sides. I can take them out... if you think you can take out these two goons without missing.” Whatever paint balls he had left himself after this he would save for Lee as well. He fucking deserved it.

Flashing Haytham a smirk Connor lowered his mask again and turned. “Don't fuck this up, old man.” he teased and quickly darted back over the branches, making his way back to his spot guarding the flag. He'd have to trust his father to deal with the other two, to be capable enough to make those last two shots count. If not, then they'd most likely loose.

As he had expected it didn't take long for the other two team members to arrive; he spotted one creeping towards the flag through the thicket and scrubs, staying low to the ground. The other one, opposite of the field, was hiding behind a few rocks, no doubt to scout the area. He had been taking out a lot of enemies around this place, they knew he was here, somewhere. They were being cautious for a good reason.

Connor glanced at the first one again, watching him creep closer no doubt trusting the other one to have his back and cover him. The second goon began closing in as well but he was still too far away to hit.

Connor moved slowly, quietly raising his gun and aiming it at the top of the first goon's helmet. He waited, letting him come closer until he was only a few feet away from the flag and just as he rose up, no doubt to make a run-and-grab, he squeezed the trigger.

“Fuck!” the goon jumped up as red paint splattered over his helmet and Connor smirked – more points for him! - when suddenly a blue paintball splattered against the three not even a foot away from his head. Cursing he ducked behind the trunk, quickly scooting around it onto another branch. The other guy was coming into motion now as well, running towards the flag in a zig zag as he fired into the trees; some of the paint balls barely missed him.

“Shit! You better be fucking winning over there, dad!” he hissed to himself as he jumped off a low hanging branch into some closely clustered bushes and rolled onto his feet, darting behind a rock as another blue ball splattered paint where his leg had been just seconds ago. Fuck this guy was good!

Daring a peek over the edge of the boulder Connor cursed even louder, watching the second goon rapidly getting closer to the flag. He shot out of hiding and immediately the man began firing again, over his shoulder first, and then while running backwards. Connor was forced to dart back behind the nearest tree, a boulder, a low wooden fence, whatever he could use as cover as he desperately tried to close in enough to shoot the bastard before he grabbed the flag.

He'd never hear the end of it if he lost this now!

He heard a thud and a muffled curse and quickly glanced over the fence he was hiding behind; the other guy had tripped over a tree root and was scrambling to get onto his feet again; Connor wasted no time and jumped over the fence, putting all his remaining energy into this last sprint. He fired. The man rolled to the side and jumped on his feet. He fired again, cursing as he somehow managed to dodge and threw a rock his way, which he had to deflect with his gun, knocking it to the side.  
The man fired again and a paint ball exploded on the ground mere inches from his feet; he was close enough to touch him now; extending his arms Connor hooked the muzzle of his gun underneath the gun of his opponent and pulled, yanking it out of the way before he raised his foot and shoved it against the man's chest to force him back, creating just enough room for him to aim.

A red splatter appeared in the center of the man's padded chest, a grotesque mimic of a shot wound, and the goon cursed loudly but Connor had already turned around, breathing heavily.

Had dad won?

-=-=-=-

Wait, why was he taking on three people if he had three paintballs left? Granted he was a great shot, but if Connor had more paintballs shouldn't he at least get a few before trying this-

Too late. Connor took off with a burst of speed, Haytham's eye twitching further. Old man, hm? Looking between the three, Haytham examined his own stance and nodded to himself.

This would sting a bit. Their rapid approach to the flag, however, left him little choice.

Rapid movement, and he aimed for the top of the look-out's head. With Charles and the other man standing close together, it was less likely they'd get distance after he fired his shot.

On somewhat shaky legs, Haytham crouched, moving to a thinner part of the branch, one close enough to leap. It took just a moment, but transpired so slowly as the lookout saw him and almost called out-

"In the tr-"

Right between the eyes, a red burst of paint exploded. Haytham was grateful he wasn't in a particularly high tree, legs extended and arms out, gun in one hand and the other open wide to grab them.

A paint ball burst beside him, the full weight of Haytham's body colliding with the other man, and in the flurry the man's gun dropped. He kicked out; Haytham rolled on his side and aimed, ignoring the flaring pain in his knee as a red burst of paint hit the man in the mask, who cursed loudly. 

He had no time to celebrate victory though.

"Charles!" 

Charles had taken off if the brush of bushes and Haytham quickly grabbed the enemy flag-

T-only to get hit with the butt of the gun.

The helmet helped somewhat but not entirely. It was unexpected to say the least. He allowed himself to slide down the thick trunk of the tree. His gun remained by his side. In front of him stood one of the men he hat shot, red paint dribbling down the front of his helmet.

"We're not loosing to the likes of you. Not to his kind and certainly not to a lover of the darkies." 

Snarling, Haytham took hold of his own gun and lifted his helmet. A brawny man, Haytham squinted at the sound of his voice. He dared to raise his own helmet and recognized the man's face.

"… Playing for Reginald? How is his corporation doing these days since his incapacitation? I heard your stocks have plummeted." The man was stronger, younger, and clearly did not abide by rules. Haytham eyed his flag, still standing unattended. 

His opponent sneered. "I heard your company is doing much better, after the forest fruit met her little end. Probably more raisin like after how she died." A smirk, and he made to grab Haytham's flag. It would be his word against theirs, after all. "Charred meat never smells as good as a woman’s perfume."

Haytham's face remained blank, hand clutched around his gun as he took a final shot. The man doubled over and fell to his knees, a yell ejecting from his throat as the final paint ball exploded over his groin. Haytham stood up and brushed the dirt from his knees, expression blank, and moved to pick up their flag once more, eying the look-out who ran to his friends aid.

"You won, fair and square. I'll let the panel know." A nod, and Haytham wondered where Charles had ran off to... ah, but he had far more important things on his mind now.

He needed to talk to Connor. He felt the material of the flag between his fingers and stalked onward to find his son. Let him revel in their little victory, he could keep this to himself for the moment.

-=-=-=-

“Dad! Did you get it?”

By the time Connor reached his father's location he was out of breath and slowed down to a stop, resting his hands against his knees as he struggled to breathe. He had ran all the way from their flag location to this place, and as he looked up he was pleased to see Haytham hold the enemy's flag in his hand, gun in the other. They had won.

With a grunt Connor allowed his knees to buckle and sat down on his ass before flopping backwards onto the grass, arms spread and eyes closed. They had won! It had been difficult and he had honestly expected to lose, but no, they had won!

“Where's Lee?” he asked, still a little breathless even after he managed to catch most his breath, and cracked one eye open to see Haytham jab his thumb in the direction of the main building, an angry glare on his face. Connor shared his father's anger, and with a huff of breath he got onto his feet again, stomping towards the building with his father right behind him.  
As expected, Charles was indeed inside, talking with William. The defeated members of the other team sat in a corner and cast them dirty glances as they walked inside.

“Haytham! Connor!” William was beaming, taking a step towards them with his arms spread wide. “You did it! I didn't think we had a chance to win after- whoa now!” He quickly put his hands up as Connor lifted his paintball gun, but it wasn't aimed at William. The muzzle pointed directly at Charles, who met his angry gaze with a raised eyebrow. Challenging him. He was fucking challenging him. Good thing Connor liked a challenge and wasn't afraid to back down just because Lee was a greasy fancy suit with a ton of cash; his finger tightened around the trigger and he had a split of second to enjoy the widening of Charles' eyes as he realized that yes, he was about to shoot.

Red paint splattered over Charles' chest plate as Connor fired again, and again, emptying his gun onto his supposed team mate as everyone abruptly fell silent until he had no more pellets left.

“Have you completely lost your mind?!” Charles bellowed as he glanced down at the red paint dribbling down his front, and William quickly stepped forward to push Connor's gun down, even though it was already empty – the kid looked angry enough to use it to bash Charles' head in. “Calm down, Connor. There's no need for this, we won.”

“Yeah but no thanks to him!” Connor snapped and threw his empty gun on the floor. “You're a fucking traitor, Lee! And you should never have come along! You should have left your useless, cowardly ass back home!”

-=-=-=-

It was a most amusing spectacle. Connor's anger almost matched his own. Of course the way he handled said emotion was callous to the point of almost lacking tact. Admittedly, he too wanted Charles to endure the end of a few well placed rounds, but one simply did not do that.

Mostly because he lacked pellets. But he had a touch of class.

"Haytham!" William gave him a pleading stare, situated between both men. Hm? Oh, yes.

He should do something, he supposed.

"Charles, that was cowardly. Connor..." He met his son's angry eyes. Charles crossed his arms, a smirk playing across his face. Almost gleefully waiting a punishment.

"… I'm famished. I would literally kill half the people here for a cheeseburger." That garnered the stare of more than a few people but Haytham ignored it.

William blinked, lips twitching as Charles turned... fuchsia? Or was that more of a pale rose?

"Haytham, your _son_ shot me in the chest!" 

A grey eye twitched before he answered. "Charles, I would have shot you too if I hadn't ran out of _ammo._ Besides, you're both adults. Settle it amongst your selves, I'll have no part in it."

"Haytham-"

A dismissive hand wave was his only response, Charles turning a darker shade of red. 

"Is there a Burger King establishment somewhere near by, William? We're hungry."

-=-=-=-

“I think I saw a Burger Ki-”

“No.”

Eyes flitted to Connor as he turned around, his back to Charles and shook his head. “I hate Burger King. We passed a McDonalds on our way here.” Ugh and he was _craving_ a McFlurry now. 

William shrugged and his lips twitched up into a smile. “McDonalds sounds good. Heh,” he elbowed Haytham. “We haven't been to a McDonalds since the early days. You coming, Charles?”

Charles was almost literally bursting at the seams now and he stomped his foot down. “No, I refuse to have dinner in such a... a... plebian snack bar! There has to be something better!” Something with at least four stars.

“Oh come on, Charles.” William nearly whined. “It's been so long since we last visited a McDonalds.”

“I refuse-”

“Lee, if you really think the Mac is so far beneath your stature,” Connor turned and picked up his paintball gun from the floor. “Then you can stay behind in the car and starve!” With that he turned on his heel and marched out of the building towards the parking lot.

William blinked and watched him go, clapping Haytham on the shoulder. “Say what you will, but he takes after you a lot as well.” The bossy attitude when angry for one. With that they walked towards the car as well... Charles had no choice but to follow, silently fuming as he did so.

~*~

The nearest McDonalds was only a twenty minute drive away. William opted to use the McDrive but Connor insisted on wanting to eat inside; he was desperate to get out of the car.

Fortunately it wasn't all that crowded, even though they all earned plenty of stares from the people already eating and working there as they walked in, still wearing their paint splattered camouflage suits. William satisfied himself with a double cheeseburger and a large cola while Connor took the McChicken menu, “and a McFlurry with M&Ms! And a Happy Meal for him.” Jabbing his thumb at Charles he grinned over his shoulder at the angry scowl he received in return, and stepped to the side so that Charles could change his menu to a coffee and a salad.

-=-=-=-

He almost grinned at William's words, watching Connor storm off. Indeed, perhaps he inherited the finer traits of him. Unwillingness to negotiate being one of them.

Which is why as they ordered he slipped out. There was a Burger King just across the street.

He came back ten minutes later, a double whopper with no onions and extra tomato, an order of onion rings and a giant cup of coke in his hands. He almost dared someone to say something and flopped down into a seat next to Charles and across from his son.

"I don't understand how you consume that garbage when heaven is literally across the street."

William rolled his eyes, snatching Haytham's soda and taking a glug. "Oh god it's the nineties fry wars all over again."

"Burger King _won._ "

"That one time, McDonalds has better fries currently."

"Fries are overrated, onion rings are better."

William shook his head as Haytham sipped from his drink and blanced. "Jesus."

"Yeah, sweat tea." 

Haytham shook his head, grabbing his much better drink and spared Connor a glance. "Chicken. Really? Burger King is better-"

"We have much more pressing matters to address!" A few people stared, Haytham's arms crossing over his chest as he chewed. 

"The buyout, the lawsuit against Hickey, the stocks, the-"

Haytham rose an eyebrow, frowning at Charles. "I'm very aware of our business needs as is William. Hickey has a sexual harassment claim filed against him every other day, our stocks are fine, Church will handle the buyout and for god sake,s William, if you try switching my drink again I'll use Connor's McFlurry spoon and gauge your eye out."

"Haytham, this is serious." Charles resisted pinching the bridge of his nose, staring instead at Connor. "There is business to conduct, and you've been mentally absent ever since that woman's passing."

Haytham tensed immediately, looking away. Even then he could see William glare imaginary daggers at Charles before he cleared his throat. "Haytham is doing just fine. If anything I think he should take the afternoon off to commemorate the victory with his son." William offered Connor a friendly back pat. "They did win it for our company, after all."

Grey-blue eyes flickered to Connor, just for a moment. He said nothing, head tilting curiously as he watched Connor eat his McFlurry. Curiously, William turned his head, blinking.

-=-=-=-

Connor just rolled his eyes and tried to block out the back and forth bickering about who was better, McDonalds or Burger King. He honestly didn't care; after all, he had a McFlurry and it was delicious!

He finished his burger in silence and did the same with his fries and cola, saving the best for last. It really was too bad that McDonalds did not deliver orders at your doorstep, or he would order McFlurries at least once every week! It was so gooooooood! Oh man, he wanted another one, these things really didn't last long, already he could see the bottom of the cup.

Trying to ignore Charles' whining about the company Connor frowned and licked ice cream off the white plastic spoon, ignoring the temptation to kick the man under the table.

"There is business to conduct, and you've been mentally absent ever since that woman's passing."

The spoon cracked between his teeth as Connor abruptly bit down and shot Charles a venomous glare. William quickly pressed his hands down on his shoulder as he made to stand, and forced him back down in his chair.

That bastard Lee! How dare he?! Fuck this, he wasn't fucking worth it! Still glaring Connor took the spoon out of his mouth and glanced down at it, eying the crack running over the length of the plastic before he shrugged and popped it back into his mouth. Fucking Lee... why hadn't dad fired him yet? He totally should.

He felt along the crack with his tongue as he leaned his elbows on the table, slowly pushing the spoon around in his mouth as he stared blankly at the wall ahead. It sucked that Myriam preferred Burger King as well. And Shaun, Shaun didn't like either. Bah, and he didn't feel like going to McDonalds alone; where was the fun in that even if he could eat all the McFlurries he wanted?

It sucked...

It took Connor quite a few seconds to realize that he was being stared at, and he blinked, feeling a light flush creep onto his face as William, Haytham and yes, even Charles blatantly stared at him. What? WHAT? What was he, a piece of meat on display? Stop staring!

“Knock it off.” he muttered, the words a little muffled with the spoon still in his mouth and Connor turned in his chair, fishing for his phone. A quick game of Angry Birds sounded about right now.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't look away, it was almost captivating, watching the tip of his tongue trace the spoon. To and fro, back and forth. Haytham snapped out of it at Connor's mutter, realizing both William and Charles were staring at his son, for two very different reasons.

He nudged Charles, simply urging him to behave; he seemed likely to make an unflattering derogatory assessment and he would not stand for it. 

No matter how orally fixated Connor was.

As for William, Haytham cleared his throat. That was enough for him to shoot Haytham an apologetic look. It still didn't help the odd stirring in the pit of his stomach though. He kicked it away, unwilling to speculate its intent. He was the lad's father, of course he'd feel something.

"An afternoon off sounds splendid." He would have gotten up to leave, had he not required just a moment. The tightness was beginning to subside just then.

He received a glare from Charles and little else. The drive home was fairly quiet save for his and William's chatter. He threw the occasional glance Connor's way but saved the commentary. It wasn't his concern, not really.

He unlocked their door, taking William's advice and spending the afternoon free of obligations. Well, if one didn't include bonding obligatory.

Though really, Connor was an impressive shot. "You fared well today." He placed the filter into the percolator, the sound of coffee brewing loud in the kitchen. "Your aim is not bad."

-=-=-=-

Connor was most glad to finally get home and away from Lee. Even William, while a great guy, had started to grind on his nerves during the ride home. He needed a fucking aspirin.

He dumped his stuff in the hallway and made a beeline towards his bedroom; he wasn't going to do anything tonight. He was going to slouch on the couch and watch movies and drink mountain dew and then go to bed! Connor quickly stripped out of his paintball clothes and carried them into his bathroom where they were unceremoniously dumped into the hamper.

A quick shower later Connor strolled back into the kitchen wearing his comfortable pajamas, minus plastic spoon as it had finally cracked under the abuse of his tongue and teeth and now lay forgotten, alone and in pieces in the trashcan. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit him and Connor sighed happily. Aaaahhh coffee... almost as great as McFlurry ice cream. Especially when his dad made it.

“... thanks.” He still wasn't used to getting compliments, especially not when they came from his father. It didn't happen often and when it did it usually left him feeling... weird. And strangely proud. “You did pretty well as well. You know, for an old man.”

He accepted his coffee with a smirk. He knew that Haytham was aware he was only teasing, it certainly wasn't the first time he had called him an old man and it wouldn't be the last. That, and he _was_ old.

They walked back into the living room and Connor flopped down onto the couch with a sigh. Adding creamer and a ton of sugar he stirred his coffee with one of his father's expensive silver spoons and leaned back into the cushions, letting the hot cup warm his hands as the piece of metal too found its way into his mouth, to have something to occupy himself with as he waited for his coffee to cool down.

-=-=-=-

He let the comment slide, if only because Connor called him that repeatedly. And often. And it was a _lie_ even if he was graying earlier than expected.

Haytham settled against the couch, enjoying silence for just a moment. He preferred tea, but coffee would do. Black and two sugars, the way he liked it.

"Lad, spoon." He peered upwards as he said it, blinking again as Connor's tongue curled around the metal. He had his mother's eyes, but not her habits.

He forced his gaze elsewhere but couldn't help the comment that escaped his lips. "And you wonder why men stare, you've acquired the oral gestures of seasoned call girls."

He blinked as Connor choked. What? He had called him _old!_

At least he was being honest.

-=-=-=-

Connor quickly spat out the spoon onto the couch cushions and rubbed his throat. What? Seriously? Blinking at his father with wide eyes he glanced at the spoon again, back to his father and back to the spoon before they narrowed. “And how would you know?” 

Ugh, please don't tell him that Haytham had actually used call girl services before! Gross!

Was that why William and Lee had been staring at him as well before? Because he... oh god! Feeling an embarrassed flush creep onto his face Connor picked up the spoon again and tossed it on the table. It was a habit of him, he knew that. He just _liked_ having something in his mouth he could toy around with and chew on. It was a great stress reliever. So what if it looked a little...? He didn't mean for it to look like that!

And you know what? He did what he wanted! “I don't care.” Snatching the spoon back he put it between his lips again and leaned back, arms crossed over his chest as he tilted his head up slightly, peering down at his father sitting across of him as he slowly twirled the spoon around with his tongue, and smiled around it.

“Is it troubling you, dad?”

-=-=-=-

He scoffed, rolling his eyes at the insinuation. Honestly, the lad couldn't tell when he was being baited? Though he seemed far from bothered by it, being the brat he was.

"Troubling me? No. I can't control who or what you've done." That got him a glare, Haytham's eyes still on Connor's mouth. Nor did he wish too.

It was simply interesting, watching Connor lap at a spoon, that smirk plastered across his face. As it were, he was a handsome lad. Such actions coupled with his looks would garner attention. He'd never admit that aloud.

"… I am fascinated by how _easily_ the activity comes to you." He paused, sipping his coffee before adding. "No pun intended." Although, he wouldn't deny how tempting that seemed. His hardening cock didn't seem to mind either. And the voice of warning was absent.

It only spurred Haytham to lean back, very aware of the unhidable bunching of his pants. If the lad brought it up, well, he'd go from there. They hadn't initiated an act save for that one night. If Connor didn't, no harm in a long shower.

-=-=-=-

… wait, had he just implied that... that...!

Connor reddened even more and swallowed thickly. Well, it wasn't like he had never performed oral before. Myriam liked it enough, and it wasn't like that one boyfriend from a few years back had ever said no to a blow job. He didn't have much experience with the latter though... he had only done it, what... five times total? Something like that?

And it didn't help that, somehow, Haytham seemed to like the idea, if the pitch in his pants wasn't clear enough. He wasn't exactly making an effort to hide it. And it was weird on so many levels!

He and Haytham hadn't done 'anything' since that day of the funeral, well over eight months ago. They had both blamed it on the alcohol and the emotions back then, and neither of them had ever brought it up, nor did they have a reason to. As nice as it had been, it didn't change the fact that they were related, family.

And now his father was sitting across of of him with his cock trying to tear through the fabric of his pants, and insinuating that performing orally must come easy to him just because he liked to suck on spoons!

There were so many things wrong with that.

It was... exciting.

“Fascinated, huh?” he asked, ignoring the screaming voice in the back of his mind that kept warning him that he should shut up and drop the subject before it led to anything. “I can... er, see that.” Very clearly. Connor risked another glance down at his father's crotch, feeling like his head was on fire. Well hello there!

… well... it had been a very tiring day. It wouldn't hurt to... relax? Enjoy each others company? Have some... ah, fun? It wasn't like they were hurting anyone with it, right?

 _Yeah, keep telling yourself that, you dirtbag,_ the little voice in his mind hissed, but Connor promptly blocked it and shifted, finally removing the spoon and placing it back on the table. “You, eh...” He nodded at the tent in his father's pants before looking up to meet his eyes. “Do you...?” Oh god this was so awkward, and he felt like such a whore for bringing it up, for suggesting it even! He felt like he could die from embarrassment, right here, right now.

But... he wouldn't deny that the few times he had given someone a blow job, he had really _liked_ doing it for some reason.

-=-=-=-

Fascinated indeed. The variety of color burning displayed over his son's cheeks said quite enough about his own opinions. And what was clear, was his acceptance of the silent proposition.

Well fancy that. Haytham quite enjoyed watching embarrassment shown across dashing features.

So much for being an old man then, aye Connor?

"Well I certainly _hope_ you could see my fascination, lest you need spectacles." Yes, amused and smirking, cocky and now delightfully assertive, Haytham spared his son a gaze that smouldered.

"Do I ...what?" He set his coffee aside, playing with the rim of the cup. "Partake in such endeavors?" He got up, settling himself on his knees between Connor's legs before resting an elbow on his thigh, hand cupping his face. "I enjoy receiving such activity, yes lad." It wasn't what he was asking, but Haytham hardly cared.

Not when brown eyes were fixated on his every movement. A finger trailed up and down the seam of his son's pants, Haytham's eyes never leaving the dark brown. "I've wondered, on occasion, what the action may feel like, against my lips, tongue... and the like." That was a lie, he had no interest in such things. He wasn't repulsed, but the thought of performing orally hardly seemed appealing.

Judging by the noises Connor made, however, he'd be willing to let the lie slide. A calloused hand cupped the hardening erection, and he dipped his head to lick the entirety of its length through his pajamas.

Rising to his feet, Haytham cocked an eyebrow and sat down in his chir again, bringing his coffee to his lips. "Perhaps someday I'd even concede to such a notion... if I was thoroughly satisfied."

-=-=-=-

Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod!

Connor could only stare, eyes blown wide open as Haytham settled between his legs. Was this truly happening? Was this real? If this was a dream then it was a really cruel one!

He shivered as a finger traced the seam of his pants, and his eyes widened even more at the confession. His father had _never_ given a blow job before? He was basically a virgin in that department?

OH GOD! There was no way, no way that-!

His hips jerked before he could stop it, as a hand cupped the erection he didn't even know he had and the strangled groan he let out bordered on un-manly as the wet hotness of a tongue licked a broad stripe up over his clothed erection, right through the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms.

His heart was definitely working overtime in his chest right now and Connor was unable to bite back a whimper as the warmth of his father's close presence disappeared, leaving him on the couch by himself with his legs spread, a damp spot on his pants and a dazed look in his eyes.

Holy _fuck!_

That should _not_ have been so arousing!

Eyes flicked up at Haytham, who sat down like nothing was wrong and casually sipped from his coffee, behaving like he wasn't sporting a tent. Connor's fingers clenched into fists until his nails dug into his palms.... fucking tease. If Haytham really had never given a blow job before, then _he_ would be the first one to receive it! Maybe not even today, but some day...!

He stood up, still eying the obvious bulge in Haytham's pants and walked around the table to kneel in front of him. His hands rested on Haytham's knees as he contemplated on what to say... dad had been honest with him just now. He should do the same. “I... haven't done this in a while.” he muttered and applied a little pressure, spreading his father's legs to create room. “I'm probably rusty at this.” Couldn't really fuck up on a blow job but he hadn't forgotten his father's preference for rough play and there was no way that he'd be able to deep throat him or something. “So no rushing me.” he warned as he reached out and began undoing his father's belt. The last time he had done this, with his late boyfriend, he had managed to unzip him with only his teeth and tongue... but it had been too long. It was unlikely he'd be able to repeat that now. Maybe at a later date...

Popping the button Connor pulled down the zipper and tugged on the jeans to lower them as far as possible. Taking a deep breath he tugged his boxers down as well and- whoops! Got a face full of excitable cock. Oh hello... ahem. Excitable indeed!

“Any, er... preferences?” he asked as he tilted his head, looking it up and down and wondering how far he could fit that in. It was... quite impressive.

-=-=-=-

It had been a while, hm? He was mildly surprised at that. Connor seemed rather talented with his tongue, he'd though it had been put to proper use more frequently.

He had to fight the chuckle, his cock quite literally almost slapping Connor on the forehead. He'd comment, but he quite liked the lad between his legs, looking at his erection as if it were formidable. Perhaps it was. Perhaps the biggest he ever had. Now that thought made him smile.

"Just one." He took a fistful of black hair between his hand and gripped, but did little else. He was on the receiving end, he could tone down his habitual desire for rough activity just this once.

"I rather like you between my legs. I'd like it better if I was watching my cock slip between your lips, but I still quite like the view." Never one for dirty talk, it was said to make Connor blush. He found himself successful in the endeavor, and spread his legs wider.

"At your ready then." It had been quite some time, he was anxious to feel something other than his own hand.

-=-=-=-

Connor did not pull away when fingers wound into his hair, but he did frown and glanced up. Ah... of course. Well, that he could deal with he supposed, as long as Haytham refrained from tugging and yanking on his hair too roughly. He rather liked his hair where it was, on his head and not pulled out.

Alright then. Looking down at the cock in front of him Connor raised his hand and licked his palm to wet it; he would do this but at his own damn pace. His wrapped his fingers around the heated flesh, just to get a feel of what he would be dealing with and slowly stroked up and down. He traced a prominent vein with the pad of his index finger, paying close attention to the small jerks of Haytham's hips and the soft hitches in his breath, filing away what were sensitive spots as he thumbed the slit.

He wouldn't admit it, but truthfully he was stalling a little, feeling his own heart thump erratically in his chest. Oh, he _knew_ he should _not_ be doing this, not with his father... but... but... it didn't feel as wrong as it should. There was no harm in it! As long as he kept telling himself that...  
He couldn't wait too long though and with a deep breath he leaned forward, closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the crown.

He refused to rush himself as he ran his tongue over the head, frowning slightly at the bitter taste and trailed his lips down, sucking along the vein he had traced before. This was for himself as well, his own enjoyment and not just his dad's. He wanted to explore and get to know this particular part of his anatomy better; he hadn't thought that he and Haytham would ever again do something sexual (seeing as they weren't even drunk right now!) but here it was and it was possible that it would happen again. The thought did not disturb him as much as it as it should.

His fingers touched, stroked and rubbed where his mouth wouldn't reach as he explored, running his lips and tongue all over his father's erection, from head to base and back up again until it shone with his saliva. And then he opened his mouth fully, slowly lowering himself and slipping Haytham's cock in as far as was comfortable, his tongue applying pressure against the underside. His cheeks hollowed and Connor sucked, slurping his way back up and pulled back slightly. A string of saliva and pre-cum connected his lips with the head and he opened his mouth as he licked them, breaking the strand.

Huh... he needed to eat more fruit. Bitter!

-=-=-=-

Eyes glued themselves to Connors fingertips, tracing a path up and down his cock. He watched lips encase his head, let out a breathy sigh as the base of him was gripped, and shut his eyes just for a moment as Connor's mouth engulfed his shaft. He opened them to witness lips rising, inch after inch of himself slick, a sheen of saliva covering him.

While slow for his tastes, it was surprisingly enjoyable, the fact that his son was between his legs hardening him further is a forbidden sort of way.

Thoughts left him as cheeks hollowed around him, Haytham gritting his teeth. No. He was not one for noises. Sighing and caught breaths, perhaps a low moan of his partner's name were all he did.

And yet... suction, hot and wonderful. His grip tightened, fingers threading through hair as Connor bobbed his head, moving up his cock. Pre-cum, his own, connected to moist lips, and it escaped before he could stop it.

A noise of a higher pitch, not high, but higher than his moans, between a whimper and a sigh. Nails left indentations in his palm as he fought the urge to thrust. So long... not since their last ordeal had he sought physical affections. And here he sat, biting his lip to prevent another noise as Connor looked at him for an extended period of time. Or it felt that way, at least.

Hard to tell when he was this erect and had lips a mere inch away from his cock.

"… Problem, lad?" He swallowed thickly, voice holding a quiver of lust but otherwise calm. Lucky it didn't betray him like his twitching cock did in a silent plea for more.

-=-=-=-

Hehehehehehehe.

It was difficult getting decent sounds of pleasure from his father; a stoic, controlled guy like that it was hardly surprising. But oh, did he love it when he managed to get Haytham to moan, even if they remained soft.

"… Problem, lad?"

Lol nope, no problem. Haytham's voice was mostly stable but Connor caught the small tremor, barely noticeable, and watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Despite not having done this in years, it seemed that his blow job skills were still with him.

He stuck his nose in the air and pursed his lips, answering snootily: “You have to eat more fruit. You're very bitter.” There was no way he would give Haytham time to reply; swiftly he moved forward again and parted his lips, drawing his father back into his mouth.

This time the pace was much faster; Connor sucked, swirled his tongue, applied pressure, stroked, licked and nipped and even added in a light hint of teeth, wondering how Haytham would react to that.

He was starting to feel a little... tight himself though. He still used his fingers to stroke what he couldn't fit in, but the heavy weight of his father's flesh on his tongue was starting to turn him on as well. His brows furrowed together as he shifted, trying to ignore the growing heat between his legs and for half a minute or so, he managed... but it quickly became too prominent to ignore. Removing one of his hands, his palm and fingers slicked with saliva and pre-cum he jutted it down between his legs and wormed it into his pajama bottoms and underwear. The tremor of his sigh as he wrapped fingers around himself couldn't have gone unnoticed.

-=-=-=-

His eye twitched. It couldn't be helped, and Haytham began to respond. "See here b- oh."

Teeth worried his lower lip, head falling against the couch. His hand remained buried in Connor's hair, hips reacting in slow, long rolls. His pulse quickened with the pace, and he fought through the sucks and licks, through the soft, subtle heat of his son's mouth. He wouldn't give in, he would make no sounds he wouldn't, he wouldn't, he...

"Ahhhh!" Wordless. And throaty, teeth penetrated his lip, the tang of copper hitting him. Oh the _press_ of teeth to his flesh, he should be wary. But no, euphoria and weightlessness, again the subtlety of what was forbidden.

A tremble, a hum of sorts and he felt the vibration thoroughly. Eyes opened, lust ridden and he watched Connor's arm move, curiously lifting his gaze...

The loudest moan yet left him, and he made no attempt to even hide it. It was followed by the shifting of his foot, however awkward, the heel rubbing in conjunction with Connor's hand along the length of his cock.

A burst of pride hit him, Haytham licking blood of his lips and whispering, deeply, softly, over the sucks and slurps he heard. "Had I realized I affected you so, I'd have consented to this long ago." 

His shifted his foot, running along the outside of Connor's pants. Daring to peer between his legs, he bit back the groan, settling for rolling his hips and watched himself disappear between silken lips. "You'll be the death of me..." Though death by spectacular orgasm seemed rather fanciful. It had been too long, he was close, so very close to orgasm. He only needed a little more... a little more of something...

-=-=-=-

Oh fuck.

Oh _fuck!_

His hips bucked, seeking out the offered friction of what took Connor a few moments to realize was the heel of Haytham's foot, pressing against him and giving him something to hump against. His fingers tightened, on both cocks and his moan caused more vibrations in his mouth.

He upped his efforts, enjoying how he managed to get his father to moan louder for him, feeling his thighs tremble on his side. He hummed random melodies, anything to keep the vibrations going since it was clear his father was thoroughly enjoying the extra stimulation it provided. He was close, they both were. The way Haytham's hand clenched and unclenched in his hair, nails scratching over his scalp, and how his breath hitched and his hips rolled up trying to push deeper... at least he wasn't full out thrusting into his mouth and forcing himself down his throat. It seemed like something Haytham would do... but he didn't. Connor had warned him that he hadn't done this in a while and it seemed that his father was remembering that and respecting it... and that earned a reward, no?

By now Connor had abandoned the grip on his own cock in favor of gripping Haytham's foot, keeping it firmly in place as he rubbed himself against it, rolled his hips into the rough fabric of his sock – everything felt better than his own fingers.

Connor drew up with a long, loud slurp, tonguing the slit and lapping at the pre-cum gathered there before he withdrew and moved his head down. Haytham was on the verge of orgasm, he could tell... he just needed a little bit more...

It was a risk, he knew that, but it was sensitive and it would hopefully be enough to push his father over the edge. Connor kept his eyes closed, panting through the haze of his own pleasure and stuck out his tongue again, pushing it underneath his father's balls to flick against his taint in a rough, wet lick. Feeling him jerk he quickly slurped his way back up, licking a wet stripe over his balls with the flat of his tongue before quickly trailing it back up over his cock where he took the head into his mouth once more and hummed – in case that was enough to make him cum he didn't want to miss it.

-=-=-=-

Nails scratched the skin beneath him, hips rolling in a controlled rhythm. He may desire a brutal pace, Connor's throat tightening around him, but he was a man of control, of order. He could ignore the urge.

He couldn't fight the jerk of his own hips though, flinching at the strange, foreign sensation. No, he didn't like that, not in the slightest, and he tensed considerably.

But from no where came a swipe to his testicles. His head collided with the sofa, a calloused hand reaching between his own legs and _squeezing,_ eyes shutting instantly as his head was engulfed by warm, wet heat. A few rough squeezes and loud, lascivious slurps and it was enough.

He came bucking, harder than he meant to, hand still buried into Connor's hair as he came. Hard. And in a large amount. His grip was tight enough to keep Connor's head in place, feeling him struggle against the hold on his hair, but he couldn't even _begin_ to ease up his grip as orgasm crashed into him, shooting his seed down his son's throat.

His grip slackened finally once it was over, eyes still shut, brows furrowed and mouth parted as his erratic breathing continued. Not one word left him. No, he sat, a satiated, trembling wreck of himself. It took a moment for him to conjure the word, and it left him in a hoarse, almost whisper.

"T-That wasn't intentional, lad." He wasn't one to loose control. Truth be told, he was perturbed by his own inability to follow direction. Connor was rubbing off on him.

… Perhaps it was permissible. In certain circumstances.

-=-=-=-

It was coming and Connor moved up to only keep the head inside his mouth, to allow himself room to swallow without choking... or tried to anyway, because the hand in his hair clenched suddenly, tight enough to keep his head firmly in place, and to his horror... Haytham bucked.

The cock in his mouth drove in deep and his gag reflex activated immediately but there was little Connor could do but gag around the thick head lodged in his throat. Both his hands pressed against his father's hip and stomach, pushing, but Haytham seemed too distracted by his own powerful orgasm to even notice his son's discomfort.

Hot seed squirted down his throat and it took everything he had to keep up, to swallow it as fast as possible so he could come up for air and _breathe_ again! He barely even tasted the bitterness as he struggled to raise his head.

The second the hand in his hair slackened, Connor surged upright and coughed, gasping for air as a dribble of cum that he hadn't managed to swallow made a path down his chin. Despite it all, he was still teetering on the edge of orgasm himself; breathlessly he reached down again and fisted himself, pressing his face in the crook where his father's thigh met his hips, right next to his softening cock.

His hips rolled, desperately, erratically as he panted, eyes wrenched shut. A few more tugs were all that he needed before his spine went rigid and he whimpered loudly, biting down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, hips bucking and squirming as he came all over his own hand and Haytham's foot.

It left him a shaking mess and Connor sagged, his cum-covered hand flopping onto the carpet as he panted for air. “Jerk...” he wheezed, breathing hot air over his father's softening cock with every breath he took. There was no bite in his voice though. Yes, he was pissed that he had all out choked on his father's dick just now, but he knew how hard it was to keep control over your own body during orgasm... honestly it wasn't that surprising that he had bucked. That didn't make it any better, but those things happened.

-=-=-=-

Well now, he'd apologized. No need for profanity. Though it notably lacked sustenance, Connor's breath tickling his overly sensitive cock. And his foot was sticky.

He resisted the urge to wipe it on Connor's leg, if only because he did the laundry. Though there was a certain discomfort, having his lad settle between his legs now that the act was over and done with. While far from uncomfortable with his pants down, he lacked the need to sit around in such a state for no reason.

Silently relieved he wouldn't be bothered to reciprocate, Haytham's lips twitched, before he pulled Connor upward, more of a forceful yank than anything else. He ignored sounds of protest in favor offering a token of gratitude.

He nipped closed lips and slipped his tongue in quickly, ignoring his surprise in favor of sucking his tongue. It satisfied multiple needs after all, Haytham thoroughly exploring Connor's mouth and tasting himself on him. Nips, licks, sucks- he thoroughly explored every inch, only pulling back when out of breath.

"It's the lemon." A bewildered blink, and Haytham elaborated with a sigh that was neither here nor there. "Five cups of tea, daily, each with two wedges of lemon and one cube, packet, or teaspoon of sugar. That's why." Curiosity satisfied and thanks given, Haytham lay back, curious as Connor still sat in his lap.

A long time since anyone did that. And never had anyone filled it. Ziio had been far too thin. 

He tensed suddenly, averting his eyes. She had never been one to perform felatio. It was easy to put her out of his mind during the act itself, but it seemed fate laughed at him. Connor- much like his mother- seemed to enjoy affection after an exchange of sexual favors.

And that was too much for him. He had her eyes. He wore her necklace. He held their heritage in high regard. He was a walking reminder of what he lost.

The wonder of orgasm dwindled quickly.

"Did you require something further?" It wasn't cold, but far from affectionate.

-=-=-=-

Connor flailed a little but he accepted the kiss nonetheless, and quickly made himself comfortable on Haytham's lap as a tongue filled his mouth.

Ah... lemons... that certainly explained the bitterness. “Use more sugar.” he muttered as he leaned forward and draped himself against his father's warm chest, his head resting on his shoulder. “Or use less lemon.” Haytham and his stupid addiction to tea...

Shifting a little Connor sighed deeply and closed his eyes, quite comfortably seated in his father's lap as he was. It had been a long, tiring day and his orgasm just now hadn't helped his exhaustion. He felt tired enough to fall asleep right here and now. He wouldn't to that though, but some cuddling before bedtime had never hurt anyone before. He liked doing it and as far as he was concerned, cuddles after sex were a necessity. It was nice!

“Understood...” he muttered and clenched his fingers in the material of Haytham's shirt; he felt him tense a bit, but thought little of it, until-

"Did you require something further?"

Brown eyes opened and his brows lowered in confusion. It wasn't so much the words, but the way he had said them, like the warmth and affection in his father's voice had seeped out like water or sand would when you tried to cup it in your hands. He suddenly sounded like... like a businessman again, all the lust and fondness in his tone gone, and instead sounding serious and distant once more.

Connor straightened slowly and fixed his father with flat, unreadable stare. So that was it? Thank you for the blow job, now please scram because I have no more use of you?

It was going to be like that then?

… of course... he had been foolish to think that it could be anything more. He shouldn't feel... used... he had offered this blow job because he had _wanted_ to after all, and Haytham had accepted the offer. And now it was over, his job done. There was no need for anything else.

Connor refused to acknowledge the ache he felt at that, not wanting to accept or even think about the fact that it hurt. Perhaps he should have known... his father would never change after all. Not for him.

“No, I don't require anything.” Removing himself from Haytham's lap he fixed his pajama pants and turned around, unable to look him in the eyes. “I'm going to bed.” He desperately needed to be alone, seeing as his presence was no longer required here. And brush his teeth as well.

-=-=-=-

Nothing. He watched Connor go without a word, shoulders slumped and head down, avoiding his gaze as much as Haytham avoided his moments before.

The door slammed loudly, and he was left sitting in silence. He sat until his sock dried to his foot, staring at the blank television screen. It had been necessary. This wasn't a relationship and could never be.

It wasn't even a societal issue. It wasn't Connor himself, either. Truth be told, for the constant, repetitive pain he could be, eight months had made him fond of the lad.

For that, he'd make sure he spent the next few nights in his office. Recognizing his own vulnerability was part of the problem. The other was the sad truth.

He could not move on.

Fingers traced his bicep, tracing the old scar. It was this and Connor. All that was left of her. He'd hidden the photos, under the liquor in his cabinet. He'd never return to New Rochelle.

That was all there was to it. He'd been vulnerable for far too long. Haytham readied himself for bed, eager to wake before Connor did. He needed his company, and that alone. That's all there would be from now on.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope. Not a healthy relationship at all. ^___^
> 
> I forgot to mention before that Connor the way he is now is supposed to resemble teen!Connor from the game (when he leaves his clan to find Achilles) when it comes to size/built. That doesn't mean that you won't get to see super sexy big/buff/tank!Connor later on >3  
> Right now I have chapter 8 planned for Tuesday and chapter 9 (!!) for the next Saturday, Feb. 9, though I might cave in and upload them earlier because I'm so eager to get to Big Plot Point Number 2! It kinda depends on my own self-control lol.
> 
> Anyway, apologies to those who hate OCs (I generally hate them too) but she was needed for the plot. I promise she's very temporary.
> 
> As always, if you spot any html errors or grave typos, let me know and I'll fix them.

"Leave." The clack of computer keys and two blinks later, Haytham responded blandly. 

"No."

"Haytham." A rare touch of anger, and William was at his desk. Charles sat a mere foot away from Haytham, working on his own laptop and comfortably watched William's growing anger from his perch on Haytham's couch.

"You've been here for five days _straight._ You've a son at home." 

Haytham didn't falter, fingers moving with speed. He'd been at this for days, as had William. Much to the inner amusement of Charles.

"Connor's a grown man, he can fend for himself." Two separated shades of blue met each other. William refixed his gaze on his friend, watching his blank, emotionless face reflected on the screen.  
Until his own hand slammed down and closed the laptop, catching Haytham's fingers between it. That warranted a glare.

"William-"

"Why are you doing this?" It lacked bite. "Haytham, this isn't you."

"The hell it isn't." Leaning over, Charles grasped Haytham's shoulder. "He's been this way for well over twenty years. You didn't mind it then."

"Yes, I don't mind him working, Charles. When his family isn't waiting for days." 

Charles smirked, cockily. "Connor is a grown boy. They hardly know each other. We're Haythams true family." The possessive glint didn't go unnoticed. "He belongs here."

Haytham remained silent, withdrawing his fingers from the laptop in favor of tracing them across the table. William closed his eyes with a sigh, re-opening them.

There was silence for a moment, Charles typing. William remained unmoving, waiting for Haytham to meet his eyes. He wouldn't. His eyes instead remained focused on the overturned picture frame on his desk. William dared to touch it, looking at it, though he already knew what it was. They all did.

"I miss her too." He still wouldn't meet his eyes, but he wouldn't type either. "You think she'd want you here, all the time? For days on end, with your son at home?" No answer, not that William expected one. Haytham didn't grieve well, not properly. Eight months and some odd days later, and it was as if it had happened yesterday. The investigation's failure to progress certainly wasn't helping matters, either.

"Go home, Haytham." The picture was placed upright, a younger, exuberant Haytham with a noticeably stitched arm sitting in a meadow, his non-injured one around Ziio's shoulders. William had a flare for picture taking, then and now.

"He is home. His company is home." 

William spared Charles no response and walked away. The pale grey blue eyes focused, just briefly, on the picture. The necklace, the feathers, the taupe jacket that now lay with her remains. 

"Haytham?" 

Wordlessly, Haytham rose, shutting his laptop fully with a click. "I should check in on the lad. See if he hasn't starved himself." He offered Charles a nod. "I'll be back in an hour."

Charles said nothing, grin twitching at his lips as Haytham strode away. William could say what he wanted. This was were Haytham belonged.

For almost a week Haytham pushed thoughts of earlier actions from his mind. From a slamming door to slumped shoulders, to feathers and pizza, game and hunting- he forcibly removed himself. He had to. This couldn't end well for either of them.

His drive was short, tired limbs carrying themselves through a small wave of paparazzi, asking questions about his upcoming birthday. He offered nothing, trudging past them and though the entry way, straight to the elevator.

But when he tried to unlock his front door he found it already open, and he frowned. He could hear the music, some up beat tune with a deep bass beat from through the door. Twisting the knob, it opened, the blare of music becoming even stronger. And immediately he wished he hadn't left his office.

So much for grieving. Empty cans of soda everywhere, pizza boxes and McDonalds bags, take out containers strewn about. A little disaster in his abode.

He'd spent days in a depressive spiral for _this?_ He almost called out, frown on his face and stepped over strewn cans of Mountain Dew. "Con-"

A surprised look and he blinked, turning around completely, almost seething. A girl, in his son's lap. That wasn't what bothered him.

The sprawling over one another and smeared lip stick across his son's face _did._ Or at least it did when they were on _his_ couch. "Glad to see you're alive, lad. Perhaps the bedroom would have been a more appropriate place."

-=-=-=-

Well now. There he was, after not having dared to show his face for five days straight.

Connor's face remained completely passive as he laid eyes on his father, taking in the messy state of the living room. Yes okay so, it was a bit dirty. So what? He shouldn't have left then! And if it bothered him he could hire a maid, because he wasn't going to clean up either.

He glanced down at the girl currently seated in his lap and a smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back and looked up to face his father again. “I suppose, but where is the fun in messing up my own bed, hm?” Besides... they had already messed up Haytham's bed as well, mostly because it was bigger and more comfortable than his own. And because they could.

That and... Bianca definitely had a kinky streak, something he... hadn't entirely gotten used to yet. Ahem.

“Why did you come home? The office not comfortable enough for you?”

The girl in his lap shifted, her arms around his neck and sat up a little straighter. She remained draped against his chest, with her head resting on his shoulder, but her eyes never left Haytham.  
They had only really met a few days ago, in school. Of course he had seen her before, they shared a few classes together, but they had never spoken or anything... until that one time she stopped him after Math three days ago.

And it had just... clicked. Just like that. Boom. They had hardly left each other's side since then. Was it love? Connor wasn't sure, but was he attracted to her? Ooohhh yes. She was smart, funny, kind... sexy... and she wasn't the kind of girl who would chat your ears off, or the one who wore skimpy clothing because that wasn't his thing either.

Since it had been made public that he was the heir to Kenway Corporations – whether he wanted to be or not – and had a filthy rich father... well, he had never been unpopular but it wasn't like girls stood in line for him before all that. Things had definitely changed, and he was _not_ interested in a girl who only wanted to get into his pants because he was rich and could buy her expensive gifts.

And she... _she_ wasn't like that.

He ran her fingers through her red hair as she looked up briefly with her large brown eyes. “Aren't you going to introduce me, Connor?”

He let out an exasperated sigh and smirked. “I suppose I could. Dad, this is Bianca. Bianca, my dad.”

Sitting up Bianca swung her legs onto the floor and stood up, much to Connor's dismay - his lap was cold now! - and she made her way over to Haytham with a smile and her hand outstretched. “It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Kenway! Connor has told me so much about you.”

Behind her Connor rolled his eyes. No he hadn't... why would he want to talk about his no-good selfish bastard of a father?

-=-=-=-

Teeth grit, Haytham grew tense. Why had he come home? None of Connor's damn business. It was his home, he could come and go as often as he damn well pleased. And he would have said as much.

A confident, soft voice interrupted his internal rant, Haytham's lip twitching as he examined the outstretched hand. His shake was tentative. It didn't match the furious look held in his eyes.

"Has he now? All negative things I assume." She laughed, the laughter dying down when Haytham's face remained stoic. Red hair, on the thinner side, brown eyes, pretty smile. This wasn't her fault, she was a third part caught in tumultuous war fare.

Not that it made him feel any better. Connor's smug attitude was enough to leave him fuming. "I'd say make yourself at home but I can only hope your own home isn't in such a state of disarray." He faltered, eyes narrowing at his open bedroom door before he took two strides and peaked in.

It was less rage and more disgust. Haytham turned, lips twitching, eyes focused directly on Connor's. "Classy." One of the few places he had left of untainted memories. Of this time last year, when Ziio spent the night for his birthday.

Shaking his head, he could ignore the tightness in his throat. He could not make a scene, or rather he would not. That was what Connor wanted no doubt.

Instead he shut his door completely, face blank save for twitching lips and cold eyes. "Your mother favored my bed too. Just as well." It was _worth_ saying for all it's uncouth quality: Haytham turned on heel and made to leave. "You're a lovely young woman." It was called over his shoulder, back tense in rage. "If only the circumstances of our meeting had been pleasant. Perhaps some time soon they will be."

He slammed the door, leaning against it and catching his breath. A drink. That's what he wanted. Haytham let his feet drag him away. It was time to fulfill his own needs.

-=-=-=-

Connor kept his eyes down as Haytham left, flinching slightly as the door slammed. Right well, yeah... perhaps doing it on his father's bed hadn't been the smartest move, but then again... Haytham had fucked him on that very same bed as well. 

Bianca sat down next to him again, plastering herself against his side but this time it did nothing to console him.  
There had been no need, no reason to bring his mother into this...

Eight months, and Connor was well on his way giving her death a place. He would never forget, but it also no longer ruled his life. It was unlikely they'd ever find out who was responsible for causing the car crash, even after so long the police had found little to no leads and there had been no witnesses safe for him. And all he knew was that there had been two people involved... but he hadn't been able to see their faces.

They'd probably never know...

“Connor?”

“Hm.”

“Are you okay?”

Oh crap, and now he was worrying her as well. He forced a smile on his face and turned his head to look at his girlfriend. Heh... girlfriend. Awesome. “I'm fine. I'm sorry if...”

“Nonono, I was just wondering. You had that look on your face... was it because of what your dad said?”

He sighed... he didn't want to admit it, but yes... that was the case. He just... no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't _understand_ his father! And every time things seemed to go right between them, something would happen to fuck it all up again. And Connor was starting wonder if it was even worth the trouble anymore... He was twenty-one, would turn twenty-two in a few months... he was old enough to live on his own. He had no reason to stay here... there was nothing keeping him tied to this apartment.

Why shouldn't he just leave?

Surely... surely Haytham would particularly mind either. He'd finally have the place to himself again, wouldn't have to worry about the mess, or him sleeping in his bed or... or blowing up the kitchen... nor would he have to worry about after-sex-cuddles anymore. That was never going to happen again.

“Connor?”

… crap, he was doing it again. 

“Sorry... uhm, can we... I dunno... watch a movie?”

Bianca blinked at him, and then smiled. “Sure!”

Connor wasn't particularly picky about what movie they'd watch, and neither was she... their eyes wouldn't be on the television screen anyway as the movie played, but on each other. In their language, movie time meant cuddle time... and maybe even more.

-=-=-=-

A bite of cool air kissed his bare skin. His cheeks tingled as he entered what was a small place on the cusp of Chinatown and Little Italy. Mott street, the smell of crisp duck and some other oddities, fresh fish caught and flopping. Even from his grimy window the park was visible, teens and adults walking by and muttering in Cantonese. The English speech here was broken, it was doubtful they'd know his name.

Good. No, perhaps excellent.

Cognac, it had been a while. Hickey knew how to pick his places; while deserted and some what weather beaten, the alcohol was exceptional. He'd forgotten the taste of Remy Martin. Of Jack and Coke. Of a warm sake, split between he and the bartender, an elderly woman who noted his birthday. "Fo' you." She'd pointed to his card, and try as he might to refuse, her polite insistence was refreshing.

She didn't know his name, nor did she speak the language. More than fine, he wasn't here to learn frivolous facts. No, he wanted to forget, just for a moment, who this Haytham Kenway was.

No regrets, never. At least none based on his choices. He did what he had to at all given points. Life had simply dealt him a poorer hand, had been unkind. He could almost persevere.

Almost.

Even as the sharp edges dulled, as liquor took toll on what was a mediocre tolerance at best, thoughts strayed. He left a tip larger than the bill itself, meeting the crisp air with a blurred sense of nostalgia. _They_ went to places like this, in their younger years.

Shaking his head, Haytham walked, for the sake of it. The cold did little to him now. He didn't stagger, not for the first half hour, beginning to do so only as he liver became overwhelmed. His mind was already elsewhere.

On skin and long hair. She was always cold, always thin. He lay atop her, sprawled, covering her one night not too long ago. If he did the math, she was with child as his lips unknowingly kissed her abdomen.

"Mr. Kenway?" Media, press. He didn't turn away, recognizing the building as his own – he had walked all the way back to his own Corporation without even realizing it. If they noticed him falter, they said nothing, a hum of questions buzzing about. His birthday, what did he want? What aspirations did he hold for his company? For himself?

He knew it, knew the answer. They all should.

To get the smell of burnt flesh out of his. Perhaps to have what was rightfully his. He'd no claim to it any longer. No, all of it was guarded by a gated cemetery and a wet patch of dirt.

He tripped, exiting the elevator, managing to keep upright. He felt his phone vibrate, a call from William. No, that's not who he wished to speak to.

Fumbling with his key, the door opened on the third try. The force he used to kick it shut almost toppled him. Reaching for the liquor cabinet, he grabbed what was a... it was beige, the liquid. His eyes weren't deciphering the rest. And under that, a black box, the key dangling next to his car keys in his pocket.

He heard something, watched the glare of television before blinking, swaying. It was dark save for the glare of the television. Actually, it was dark outside. How long had he left? It didn't matter.

No, nothing mattered. Not as he ignored the noise and shut the door to his bedroom, sitting on the floor.

Trembling fingers felt the box, unlocking it to trace the bindings of an album, and soon after the seam of two cassette tapes.

Feathers and meadows. Pictures of camouflage and game. Not numerous, but well taken. Hair that held braids, feathers, and beads. The necklace dangling from her neck. Ziio. Twenty some what years ago for his birthday, he remembered. Last year, for his birthday... he could smell her still.

The door clicked, but Haytham remained unmoving. Comfortable, he opened the bottle and drank, coughing, then pressing it to his lips once again. There was someone in front of him, but he didn't want them. Even so, they were talking, voice almost melodic through the haze.

Eyes met red and white feathers. Long black hair, that necklace... Haytham focused. Focused and saw those brown eyes.

A dream. He hadn't dreamed of her, like this, in so long. Sluggish, sloppy, he cupped the cheek before him. He's take this, while he could still enjoy it.

"Ziio... woman." So much affection in his voice, even. Now his eyes softened as he leaned and kissed, hard, passionate, with his all. It said what he could not, what he dare not say lest his dream crumble before his eyes.

-=-=-=-

They were halfway through the movie when Connor heard the front door open and close again. He didn't bother to look up, too distracted with the warm weight of Bianca on top of him and her lips on his. He heard footsteps going into the master bedroom and then... nothing.

Whatever Haytham was doing, he had just confined himself in his own bedroom for whatever reason. Sulking, most likely...

“Maybe you should go and talk to him.” Bianca purred between kisses.

“Hm... don't want to... don't care...” Shut up and keep kissing him!

“He's your dad.”

“He can take care of himself.”

She smiled in the kiss and teased his tongue with her own, sending a shiver down his spine before she pulled back. “I have to go.”

He sighed, his hands on her hips. Yeah, he knew... it was late and they had classes tomorrow, and now that Haytham was home he didn't fancy the idea of staying here with her.

“See you tomorrow then?” he asked and she nodded, getting up. He helped her gather her things that were strewn out all over the place, and saw her out with a final, drawn out kiss in the hallway. He closed the door after the elevator took her down, and he sighed... it felt good to have a relationship with someone again. Really good!

With her gone though, came a new problem... how he had to deal with his father.

“Dad?” No response, and Connor slowly made his way over to the master bedroom, turning the knob slowly. “You're not sulking, are you?” Still no answer. Pushing the door open fully he glanced inside, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the figure of his father sitting on the floor, slumped forward with an old photo album in his lap. Even from where he stood he could smell the alcohol... Fucking hell... he was drunk!

“Really?” he muttered with a sigh and stepped into the room, walking towards his father until he stood in front of him. Now he saw the bottle as well, only half full and his eyes narrowed further as Haytham tilted his head back and took another swig form the bottle. Great... just great. Just what he needed now, having to deal with his father's drunk ass.

“Fucking idiot...” he muttered under his breath and reached down, with the intention of dragging Haytham to the bathroom to shove him under the cold shower. Haytham stared up at him but his eyes were blurred and unfocused... was he even aware of him standing here?

Connor stiffened slightly as a hand reached up, frowning as it landed on his cheek and pulled him forward as Haytham suddenly leaned in and pressed their lips together. His eyes widened in surprise, lips already parting to protest before he could stop it and a tongue pushed inside, swirling the inside of his mouth and sliding over his teeth. Haytham was kissing him like... like...! He moaned before he could stop it and his hand landed on Haytham's shoulder, but whether he should push him away or pull him closer Connor hadn't decided yet. His mind was going overdrive, the taste of alcohol so heavy on his father's tongue. They weren't supposed to do this anymore but-

"Ziio... woman."

… Connor's other hand flew forward, pushing against his father's shoulders hard to force him away with enough force to land him flat on his back. Connor took a step back and ran the back of his hand over his mouth, face flushed and eyes wide, his expression nothing short of shocked.

His father had just... called him...!

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked weakly.

-=-=-=-

The taste, the broad shoulders, the strength... it was wrong. Before Haytham hit is head against the bed he realized it, but the deep voice of his son further fractured the moment.

It left immediately. Any warmth fleeting as he examined the adjacent night stand. No words, not for quite sometime. They came out jumbled, deep. Empty.

" 'M drunk, lad. That's all." The tightness returned, assaulting him. Fingers stopped stroking the pictures in front of him to play with the puckered scar on his bicep. Through clothing, it was still rough, thick. He swallowed harder suddenly, shutting his eyes.

"Thought 'twas a dream. A pleasant one for a change." He reopened them. Still glassy. It seemed impossible to control, through the haze.

Again his mouth opened. Connor should leave. He knew this. And yet...

"You hate me, don't you, lad?" He smiled. Nothing in it was humorous. He shouldn't hate him. The last bit of family he had shouldn't hate him. Not after everything he'd done to keep them safe. Under normal circumstances he'd embrace the hatred and move on.

But the idea jumbled and lost concept in his mind. Haytham grabbed for the bottle with his other hand, sloppily bringing it to his lips again. Only after he placed it down did he slur. "You have no i-idea what she put m-me through, 'n I still think about her." Not every moment of the day, he'd too much on his plate. But often enough. Disrupting his thoughts, leaving him... like this.

That's what he wanted. Eyes focused, hand shakily grabbing Connor's. Just to tell someone the damn truth. Who better than the last living member of his own family? He said as much, para-phrased and slurred, closing his eyes again. His mind swam. Something told him this wasn't wise. He ignored that too, and the urge to stop talking left.

Whether Connor would listen was up to him. He simply couldn't remain silent any longer.

-=-=-=-

“No shit you're drunk!”

Christ! Just... ugh! Connor had half a mind to turn around and storm out of the room, let Haytham deal with his drunken ass alone. He had brought this upon himself after all!

Connor however, didn't. It was the smile, devoid of humor. The words, about her. The hazy look in his grey eyes, still full of pain.

Connor had every right to leave him like this, but he couldn't. Just like he had every right to hate his father. “I don't hate you.” he muttered as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, clenched into fists. “I pity you. Look at yourself.”

Even after all this time, what had happened eight months ago on that long, swindling road through the forest; it still held an impact in their lives... and it seemed more-so in Haytham's life than in his. It didn't look like his father had given her death a place at all yet... hadn't accepted that it had happened and that there was nothing to be done about it anymore.

Connor felt conflicted... his father clearly needed some help right now, but at the same time he had also just kissed him while calling him by his mother's name! One couldn't just simply brush that aside! “I think you've had enough of this.” he muttered and reached out to pry the bottle out of his father's fingers. “Wait here.”  
He turned and quickly made his way to the bathroom and made a mental note to remove all bottles of alcohol out of the apartment as he turned the bottle over and let the contents drain away in the sink. 

He wasn't just bothered and conflicted... he felt confused too. That first time they had sex, after the funeral, after wards Haytham had told him it had helped. Even so, it had felt like a spur of the moment thing; they had both been emotional, mourning and drunk... it had just happened.

Last week though... the blow job. Nor he nor his father had been either of the above, and after wards Haytham had been so cold to him, not even bothering with a thank-you.

And now he had just called him by his mother's name. His _dead_ mother's name, the name of the only woman Haytham Kenway had ever loved.

So what was he to his father then? A convenient, willing body? A replacement? Certainly not a lover... not even a one-night stand.  
Or had it all just been a big misunderstanding, all of it? Was he simply being paranoid right now? Fuck, he didn't know anymore... he could handle casual sex, even with his father... but everything around it, the deeper meaning to it... Connor wasn't sure if he wanted anything to do with it anymore. Besides... he had Bianca now.

Haytham though, Haytham had no one, and even though Connor tried to steel himself against that thought... that too bothered him.

Once the bottle was empty he reached for a clean glass and filled it with cool water, taking this back to the bedroom, and sat down on the floor next to his father. “Here...” Pressing the glass into his hands Connor fell silent and plucked at a loose string on the bed covers. 

… he smelled. Haytham smelled, of alcohol and more. He really should tell him to take a bath or something, but in his drunken state he'd probably slip and drown.

“You should lay off the alcohol for a while...” he said softly, hating the silence that had fallen over them. “A sorry would be nice as well.”

-=-=-=-

The world spun. Eyes shut, simply incapable of staying open. Footsteps, the drink taken from him, and more footsteps.

Pity? No. No one pitied him. There was nothing to pity.

Successful, handsome, charitable, well spoken- no, he was to be revered, admired. Pity wasn't associated with him. Even in the most dreadful of states, his head remained high for the entirety of his life.

It would've remained so currently, had it not felt so very heavy.

A cold glass to his fingertips and Haytham frowned at the contents as he cracked his eyes open. " 'M not to be pitied, lad." Slurring, it was with trepidation that Haytham stood, almost toppling over but leaning against the wall. He didn't ask for council, Connor could leave. He'd meant to tell him something. Something of importance. He couldn't recall what it was.

He knocked over the water on his first step, the clink of the glass catching his attention. Bit by bit, a small wave washed over some of the pictures. They weren't numerous. The quality on some were quite low, taken during moments of action; hunting, running, shooting. He happened upon a decent one, following the water as it spread, making its way over a picture of them.

Twenty years. Twenty years of wondering in spare time, no matter how brief, if he'd see her again. And this was all he had left.

To think he hated her for half of that time. Such time wasted...

"… Be a lad, and leave me be." Throat thick, he swayed, staggering with every step to the commode. "If I wanted pity, I'd tell you a sob story..." About his own childhood, no... he wouldn't care. Nor would Connor even care about Reginald and his atrocities. But there was one story he'd care to hear, right? If Haytham wanted pity, of course.

"… like, the truth. What really 'appened, between Ziio n' me."

-=-=-=-

Dark eyes narrowed, and Connor's lips pressed into a thin line. Fine then. Then he wouldn't pity him, just like Haytham wanted. Let him sulk in his own misery. Connor had tried and evidently, his efforts were once again not appreciated at all.

“Fine. Whatever. See if I care.” He stood up and made his way to the door, his hand already on the doorknob when Haytham's voice reached him once again.

The truth? A little late for that, wasn't it? “You clearly don't want pity, so why the hell should I listen to your so-called sob story?” He had no reason to. He'd only end up trying to offer some awkward comfort or something and be pushed away again. Why bother?

Ziio was dead, and no amount of stories, sob stories or otherwise, would bring her back. He had twenty years worth of memories of her... he refused to stain them by listening to whatever Haytham would tell him. “Go to sleep, dad... you should be sober for work tomorrow...” And part of Connor wished he had stayed there...

He left the room without another word, making his way back to the messy living room and picking up Mountain Dew cans and empty pizza boxed off the floor as he did so. He'd clean the place up a bit and get his ass to bed... he'd dealt with enough drama for one night.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't be bothered to watch Connor go. Instead he relieved himself, flushing the toilet before emptying the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. He expected no less of his son. Let him cling to his idealizations. He needn't be bothered by what pity brought.

Sleep. Even on whoozy feet and plagued with nausea, he knew what he needed. But his bed offered no solace, no comfort now. He would get rid of it in the morning.

He snatched a pillow and entered the living room, tipsily walking past Connor and the comfortable couches.

Instead he opened the door to Connor's room and dropped himself on his bed. The move didn't bode well with him. He was glad a small waste bin was kept close by as he emptied the contents of his stomach once more. He finished, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and lying back as he declared, to the nothingness, "Forty four tomorrow." Fingers danced across a blanket, grey eyes unblinking as they traced patterns in the ceiling until he became dizzy.

He'd never truly wondered what would have been. He hadn't had the time. But in delirium, his mind ran wild.

A pair of glassy eyes shut, lip twitching downwards. "A girl would 'ave been lovely. A birthday present if ever one." He wished to rest. His mind didn't. No, it ran wild, showing him what could have been, what should have been. What had been taken away from him.

The whimper escaped him, arms covering his face. No. He would not break. He fought to long and hard to break now.

-=-=-=-

An empty soda can bumped off the edge of the trashcan, Connor's aim off as Haytham suddenly sauntered into the living room, wobbly with a pillow tucked under his arm. Connor watched him go, one eyebrow raised as he father walked through a door, into... “Hey, that is-” his own bedroom...

Ah.

Well, he supposed it couldn't be helped... after all, he and Bianca had had a tumble on Haytham's own bed, and while that had seemed like an amazing idea at the time, he did realize now that it had been kind of a dick move. Even so, he didn't particularly mind switching beds for a night.

He turned to pick up the fallen soda can again and dumped it in the trash, just as the wet gagging sounds coming from his bedroom reached his ears. Oh come on! “There better not be any of your barf on my deer rug!” he yelled and stomped off towards the master bedroom. He was done cleaning here! And Haytham better clean _that_ up in the morning (in return he'd wash the sheets of his bed, ahem).

~*~

The next morning he woke up feeling more tired than he had felt going to bed last night. Groaning Connor slowly sat up and fumbled around for the alarm clock... it was still a little early but it was unlikely he'd be able to fall asleep a second time... might as well get up.

He dragged his feet to the bathroom, took a morning piss and a shower. It took him quite some time to realize that he was faced with a small problem... namely, he needed fresh clothes. And said fresh clothes were in his currently occupied bedroom. “Oh balls...”

Steeling himself Connor wrapped as much of the towel around his body as he could, because after last night the last thing he wanted to do was give his father any weird ideas, and crossed the hallway, turning on the TV in the living room until he reached his door. He knocked, knuckles rasping against the wood. ”Dad? You awake?”

No answer and Connor frowned. Well shit, asleep or not, he had to go in there and not just for his clothes but for his school bag and supplies as well. “Dad?” He knocked again and sighed before he took a firm hold of the doorknob. “I'm coming in.”

The second he opened the door he was greeted by a waft of foul smelling air. Connor quickly turned away and made a face... well, at least Haytham had vomited into his waste bin, that was something. He didn't look good though... was he even awake? “Dad?” Connor gently shook his shoulder and grimaced. Screw this. “I'm calling William, you're not going to work like this.” Phone... where was his phone?

-=-=-=-

Hours spent lying awake, Haytham was awake to see the crack of dawn. He'd been awake to read the update of his age on Linked-in, Facebook, and various other social medias. He was mentioned briefly in a news cast, eye twitching as a sincere reporter wished him a fair New Year despite the misgivings the current year brought.

He turned off the television, rolling over and forcing himself to sleep, only to have dream after dream until a hand shook him awake again.

Stirring, he frowned, mumbling. "… Mm?" Oh yes, phone. "William doesn't let me attend any business oriented tasks on my birthday." Ugh, his breath was horrid! His head pounded, and he sat upright, aware of how blurry everything still seemed around the edges. He glanced at the cable box, noting the time. If his calculations were correct... yes. Yes he was still drunk.

Not nearly as much as the night before, evidently. His legs shook as he stood, Haytham passing through the living room- he needed a massive quantity of Listerine-

 _"...Speaking of birthdays, we've a few today."_ He halted before rolling his eyes at the television. As if the day truly mattered.

 _"CEO and local resident Haytham Kenway has reached the forty-four mark after a great year in sales and corporate building."_ A pause and the second newscaster nodded, facing his counter part. _"Unfortunately he couldn't be so lucky elsewhere and wish him the best in endeavors along with a happy birth-"_

He clicked it off, staring blankly at the screen for a moment.

"Indeed, happy birthday Haytham." Whispered, he stalked forward wobbly. "To the drunk father and his dead wife and child. May the next year bring solace..." He scoffed bitterly, nails digging into his biceps. "Next year, why not murder William and Connor so I can jump off a _fucking_ building guilt free." To the liquor cabinet. Drinking cured a hangover, he heard that somewhere. It was a hypothesis that needed testing.

"Better yet, dangle Ziio in front of me some more, you incompetent reporters. Why not remind me of the _second_ child? Maybe it would have hated me as much as my first born, though doubtful as that seems but yes I am such a great conqueror of almost everything." A shot poured, Haytham went to drink, only to spot Connor out of the corner of his eyes.

"It's rude to stare, lad." Hadn't he ever seen a drunk man having a pleasant break down on his birthday?

-=-=-=-

Connor's eyes narrowed and he neared, snatching the glass out of Haytham's hands. “Really? This is how you're going to spend today? Sulking, brooding and drinking while you haven't even recovered from last night yet?” How immature! “I swear I'm the only adult here...” he muttered under his breath and took the bottle away as well, putting it back into the cabinet. “No more alcohol!”

As annoying as this was, getting into a fight wouldn't do either of them good... and it was Haytham's birthday after all... Today should be a fun day...

“Look... why don't you go take a shower and freshen up – you have horrible breath right now – and then we'll talk? Normal talk?” He could give his father his gift then... anything to get his mind off all this depressive shit. He himself didn't want to be reminded either that, had Ziio still been alive, she'd be due next month. He'd have a little sister soon then, or a little brother.

“I'll make tea... take a shower dad, please.” He'd offer to make breakfast too but he'd probably burn the toast and invoke Haytham's wrath again. Best to leave it.

Making his way to his own bedroom the first thing he did was open the windows to let the fresh air in before getting changed into some fresh clothes. As he fixed his hair he quickly called school to let them know he wouldn't be in today, before texting Bianca with the promise to explain later.

He glanced at the waste bin, nearly gagging himself at the sight of it – oh gross – and very carefully lifted it with only the tips of his fingers, holding it like a bomb about to go off, and turned it around over the toilet, flushing before setting the waste bin in the tub to clean out later.

Right... time for tea, and coffee for him. He hoped Haytham had taken his advice to take a shower, Connor mused as he moved into the kitchen and grabbed the water boiler. His morning breath wasn't the only thing that smelled.

-=-=-=-

He didn't desire a shower. He didn't desire breakfast. He wanted to vent damn it. To vent in absolute silence and be on his merry way.

His feet dragged home towards the shower anyway, if only because the promise of tea sounded enticing. With any luck it wouldn't be that weak, American dribble.

That and his breath was truly atrocious. He brushed twice, once before his shower and once after, rinsing until his mouth almost burned. A black turtleneck and a tight pair of Levis later, he looked dashing. Tired, circles rimming his eyes, but still an improvement. At least he looked the part of successful, jubilant business man.

He settled in a chair a solid hour later, half surprised Connor was still there, coffee percolating on the kitchen counter. He hadn't known that Connor knew how to could make coffee.

Then again, Connor and he hadn't spoken in some time. The boy avoided the kitchen like the plague though, Haytham assumed his ideas to be correct. He stared briefly, tilting his head in thought.

"I thought you had classes this morning." He'd settle for that, carefully touching his tea to his lips. Yup, dreadful. Though the lemon count was accurate, as was the one sugar. "… That' quite pleasant." Connor had no idea what he meant by that anyway... besides he had a more pertinent question.

"… What occurred yesterday evening?" After much hesitance he whispered it, toying with the rim of his cup. He had no recollection of what transpired, at all.

-=-=-=-

“I canceled them.” Connor shrugged and added sugar and creamer to his coffee. He knew how Haytham liked his tea for the most part, with the two lemon wedges and everything, but it probably still wasn't right. Too bland or too strong or whatever. But hey, at least he had tried. He had meant well with it.

“I had a test but...” Another shrug. It wasn't a that important of a test, he'd figure something out for it.

The next question was... more difficult to answer. “You don't remember?” A head shake and Connor frowned. Should he tell him the truth? Or leave certain parts out? Shit, this was difficult... Sighing he leaned back into the couch cushions and ran a hand through his hair. Lying to him had never done him any favors and he didn't think that starting that today would do him any good either.

And that left the truth. “Well, you uh... met my girlfriend... Bianca. Does that ring a bell?” He glanced at Haytham's face as he stirred his coffee, placing the spoon on the table instead of putting it in his mouth for once. “We got into an argument and you left... and when you came home hours later you were drunk off your ass. Like, really drunk. I was trying to talk to you but it was like you couldn't even see or hear me, and then... you uh... well, you kissed me.” Connor felt himself blush and he cleared his throat. “You kissed me and... called me Ziio... I got angry and shoved you away... and then you grabbed your blankets and bunked in my bedroom, and I bunked in yours and that's kinda what happened... And here we are.”

That was about as accurate as he was willing to make it. “I am not angry now, by the way... at least, not angry at the whole calling-me-Ziio part... I know it was the alcohol talking.” Still angry about the blow job incident though, but he didn't feel like talking about that either.

-=-=-=-

He couldn't fathom a response. He wouldn't lie about something of that magnitude. And yet there Connor sat, attempting to communicate with him. He'd been avoiding him for almost a week, only to arrive home and drink himself into a stupor. He couldn't fathom why, though if his train of thought had any say, it was related to Ziio.

He deserved to know. Twenty one years was long enough.

"… It wasn't the alcohol, lad. Not entirely." Running a hand over his face, he shot Connor a weary glance. Would he even believe him? Probably not. Still he'd say his piece.

"I miss her." Eyes averted, Haytham toyed with the rim of a lemon. "Being with you is a constant reminder of what I've lost." He dared meet brown eyes, focusing on Connor's face. "I'm unaccustomed to grieving. I've buried enough people to know it gets one nowhere. I cannot change what has happened. It is in no way my fault. I know this, I accept it. And then I awake every morning, and see _her,_ every time I look at you." Breathing deep, he pinched the bridge of his nose, almost unsure of what to say. "… It's torturous. Yet while I simultaneously lament and despise it, you're my son." A moment passed, and Haytham looked into his eyes again. "I'm fond of you. Not because we're bound by blood, not because of your mother. Simply because I am."

He let that sink in for a moment, before averting his gaze. He stared at the blank television for a moment, grinding his teeth in thought.

"We had... quite a history. Unlike any I've shared prior. That too, makes this difficult." So very difficult. He bit the tip of his finger, eyes still averted. It wouldn't hurt to ask... though it hurt to speak of. Even in a tipsy state now, it was a taboo topic of discussion. But he'd a right to know.

"… Perhaps you're ready to hear the truth."

-=-=-=-

Ah...

It wasn't like Connor was making a conscious effort to be a... 'constant reminder' but it did make him horribly aware of the way he looked and dressed. Feeling more than awkward he glanced away and ran his fingers through his hair again, his knees drawing up with his feet on the cushions. It wasn't his fault he had _her_ eyes... _her_ skin and valued his heritage like _she_ had done.

“Sorry...” he muttered, not knowing what else to say to all of that, though he was, honestly, very glad to hear that Haytham did not blame him for it... even more so to hear that his father was fond of him, despite everything.

“I'm...” He sighed and looked down at his coffee, now sufficiently cooled. He only took a few sips before lowering his mug again and proceeded to stare at his knees and another else. “I'm not sure if I'm ready to hear the truth... Not because of you or anything but... I've given it a place, what happened. I've accepted it and nothing will bring her back, even if we do by some miracle find the ones responsible. And I get the feeling that it's... it's not a happy truth.” His uncertain eyes flicked up to meet grey. “And it's not like I'm not curious... all I know about your past is what I've found on the internet and I have no way of telling how accurate that all is. I don't know you as well as I should and I do want to know more, but... I'm _scared_ that this will somehow taint the memories I have of her. I'm not ready to deal with that yet.”

Setting his coffee to the side Connor wrapped his arms around his legs, his eyes still on his father. “Will it do that? Your truth?” 

-=-=-=-

For once, he listened. Not just hearing him, but listened. The slight accent he had when he said certain words, how he curled in on himself, his notions. And he offered the same honesty in return, swallowing.

"I couldn't say. I'm sure you know Ziio made errors. No being is impervious." He drank his cooling tea, keeping up the eye contact when he was done.

"In my opinion, it shouldn't. Her decision was to my supposed benefit. I hold no grudge. Her view was simply so very different from my own." Eyes flickered, uncertain. "I could always tell you another time." If he ever managed to muster the courage.

-=-=-=-

It shouldn't? Well, Connor supposed he could take his word on that, and hope he was right. Ziio had only ever told how they'd met, in college, before Haytham created the company. It had been a nice story, though he hadn't cared for it when she told him, mostly because the story involved his father which back then he had still believed to be a useless deadbeat. 

Connor didn't know much else though... There was information on the internet about Haytham's side of the family but he had always avoided reading that. It felt weird, reading something like that on the internet... that was something he felt his father should tell him in person some day.

He took a deep breath. “Alright.” he said softly and reached for his coffee again. “Tell me.”

-=-=-=-

He waited for affirmation, tensing as it was received. He wished to tell him, yes, but no one else knew this. It was almost sacred, personal. Something he'd take to the grave in almost absolute secrecy.

It's why he hesitated, focusing on his breathing as he began. "I met her on an internship, here in the States. We happened upon each other during skeet shooting of all things." The corners of his mouth twitched. "I was there on business. She had the ability to make me forget that.

"William had to nudge me. Apparently I missed three rounds of target practice and was about to be kicked off the field. I was simply... enamored if you can imagine it." Truth be told, Haytham had never seen something so striking as her beauty before.

"We met. I stammered awkwardly, bumbling over possible conversational pieces. She ignored me for weeks, and I gave up. Then came the night at a tavern." His eyes darkened, a glint of something protective in them.

"Let's just say, I feed someone their teeth for being inappropriate." He'd leave it at that. Though his lips twitched at the memory of a hand on his cheek. Cold hands, even then.

"We weren't inseparable, I with my work and school and her with school and her clan. But I saw her as often as I could merit, even if it was to spend the night studying for some god awful humanities exam." He paused, sipping his tea. "We knew I'd return home, but ignored the passing time. I decided to stay the summer, I suppose to prolong the inevitable. I was caught, between finishing what was my final year of school, and staying." His eyes softened. "Eventually we decided it was best for me to return to England."

He paused, swallowing thickly. This was the complicated part, and he fixed Connor a steady stare. "It wasn't until I was home, in England for two months that I received a letter that... she was with child."

Trepidation laced his movement. He placed the tea cup down, unsteady fingers clamoring. "My mind was made up. A week later and I returned to New York, with my suitcase in hand. In her writings, she spoke of my work, you see. The amount of time I put into trying to formulate a company, the years I spent..." He averted his eyes, just for a moment. ".. .let's just say my childhood was far from what is the norm. Your mother knew this, and wished to have you... alone. I was to send a certain amount of money, and after my successful building of the company, we'd reunite. I'd visit when I could, you'd know me somewhat... granted I would be away but in a few years we'd be established. She accepted that, graciously." Haytham swallowed, throat tight.

"I could not. I did not want to stay away. She wouldn't come to England, so I'd stay here with her instead. I didn't care about the amount of time I put in, lad. I wanted her. I am a man who gets what he wants, and that is what I wanted.

"We argued for a few weeks, non-stop. I wouldn't return home, not with my child- not with you in her. She asked me, one day, what it would take to get me to leave. I said over my child’s cold, dead body. I would not negotiate. I would graduate but would loose my fellowship. I accepted that, and instead enrolled in med school."

He stopped, blinking. He couldn't stop the tightness he felt, and had to look away. "She disappeared, one night. She returned days later, and of course I demanded to know what she'd done, where she'd gone." How could he ever forget the look on her face, her chin upturned. The distant, cold voice that greeted him by the door.

"S-she told me she had an abortion." He couldn't meet Connor's face. He kept his gaze straight ahead, gulping. "She told me to leave, to go back to England. She'd done what she needed to rid herself of me, and that was that."

He cleared his throat, the thickness not yet waning. "I was so caught up in my own anger I hadn't thought to ask for a pregnancy test. She was... we were children, Connor. She was but twenty herself, and so very aware that I spent my life trying to obtain just one goal. To see me give it away... she tried to protect me the best she could. I see that now... it was an atrocious thing to do but I get it."

He did, honestly. But what truly hurt was the next part. His eyes misted, but he kept what he felt at bay. "So, imagine my surprise when about six years later I receive a letter to my business, no return address or name... with a picture. No name, just a picture and the words, 'I did it for us. Do not seek me. You still have work to do'."

He laughed, only to cradle his head in his hand. "I hated her. I hated her so much. When I did locate the address, all I did was send the words 'he's a handsome lad' simply because I didn't know what else to _say._ It bothered me, in my spare moments for _years,_ but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't demand to see you, she made it clear what she'd done and... I didn't want to see her anyway."

Shaking, his lip trembled behind his hands, his face covered. "This... this was my chance. That child was my s-second chance." He hated himself for stuttering, for being unable to meet Connor's eyes. He'd been waiting for Connor to prove his maturity, to only hide behind his own sorrow.

Yet he couldn't stop. His shoulders shook just the slightest, his knees raising to his chest, hands gripping his body as he buried his head in the crook of his elbow. He loved her. He never told her, but he had. Between huffs of breath came a choked, strangled apology, barely audible as he dug his nails deeper into his jeans. He shouldn't be seen like this. Where was his control?

-=-=-=-

Connor listened in silence, and the more he heard, the more... bothered he felt. He hadn't thought that this would be an easy story, it had been kept a secret from him after all, but... _this?_ Lying about abortion, just to force Haytham away, to make sure he pursued his life goals? Ziio had only done that to keep her unborn child, _him,_ safe, Connor understood that, but that was a big, horrible thing to lie about, no matter the circumstances.

It explained so much... Haytham cold, distant behavior towards him when they first met... and now he felt bad, for yelling at his father that he was selfish, that he didn't care and couldn't be made to care. Of course they had been words born out of ignorance but that didn't justify any of it.

Why had Ziio lied about that? What had been her reasoning for not wanting Haytham to be there as he grew up? He'd probably never know... he couldn't exactly go and ask her. And as he had feared, this story was doing nothing to make him feel better... he would have preferred to live on in blissful ignorance and continue to put the blame solely on his father, even though Connor no longer hated him for it... instead of learning that his mother had been just as much to blame for the fact he had grown up without a dad... if not more so.

And he couldn't _look away._ Connor dug his fingers into the cushions of the couch as he looked at his father. This was so unlike Haytham... his father simply did _not_ cry! He hadn't cried at Ziio's funeral, had barely shed a tear when he visited him in the hospital that night of the accident... the only moment when he had shown genuine emotions had been when they learned that Ziio had been pregnant, and even that had only lasted for no more than a minute before the mask was put back in place. 

It was disturbing to see him broken like this, and it made Connor more than uncomfortable because he didn't _know_ what to do or say to make it better! And he couldn't just sit here and do nothing either...

Shit... what a situation... Connor sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, not sure where to look as looking at Haytham just felt awkward, so he eyed his empty tea cup instead.

…

“I'll be right back.” Standing up he grabbed the cup and quickly made his way to the kitchen. The boiled water was still hot enough for a second round of tea and this time he would make sure it was as strong as he could get it, using the teabag over and over again until the liquid had nearly turned black. Hm... that might be overkill but what did he know? He didn't drink tea. He added two lemon slices and after a moment of hesitation, grabbed a bottle of scotch out of the liquor cabinet and added a small amount of that as well. There! This might cheer him up a bit!

Or make it worse... but hey, one could hope.

Careful not to spill anything Connor carried the filled cup of tea back into the living room and walked around the table. “Here. It's extra strong.” he said softly and held out the cup as he sat down next to his father. He made a point not to look at the tears... he didn't like it when people watched him cry either, he could only assume that it was the same for Haytham. “I... also brought this.” Worming his hand into the pocket of his hoodie he fished out a package wrapped in paper towels and and pressed it into his father's hands as well, clearing his throat awkwardly..

Right... well... happy birthday, dad. This so did not feel like the right moment to give Haytham the gift he had gotten him...

-=-=-=-

 _Pull yourself together, Haytham._ The voice inside in head screamed it, demanded it. _Crying? Showing weakness? In front of the lad, no less?_ A shaky exhale, and Haytham wiped his eyes from behind his one hand. Such an embarrassing moment for him, he should know better, be better.

His mask was not in place, not in the slightest. He lifted his head regardless and wiped his eyes again. "Sorry lad." His attention turned the couch beside him, clearing his throat. "I should not have acted in such a..."

But Connor wasn't there. Swallowing, Haytham pinched the bridge of his nose. Right. Probably disgusted the lad with the pathetic display. That or he didn't want to listen. Both were understandable. Haytham could only wonder why he thought Connor's reaction may have been different. With the way he'd been acting, as of late... why he expected such a thing was almost beyond him now.

"Here. It's extra strong."

He couldn't help the surprise, a fresh cup of darker tea in front of him. Oh. That's where he went. Haytham took the cup from the table, inhaling and wincing but drank regardless. He fought the gag, wincing at a surprise burst of scotch his his throat. Oh that was _dreadful._

He drank it regardless, in slow sips, only stopping to stare at the bundle of paper towels in his hand. It took him a moment to realize they weren't meant for him to wipe his eyes with. No, there was something wrapped within.

Brought... what? Curiously, he unwrapped the small bundle, running a finger over the wooden piece inside. About seven centimeters, small enough to fit in his pocket. Clearly something hand made, similar to that of the toy soldiers he had played with in his youth. Connor brought this, for him?

For his birthday. He traced the figure again, tilting his head after he sniffled. "… Why?" He cleared his throat, pushing the thickness away, yet found himself unable to ask anything further. Surprised, sadness... all of this was unfamiliar. And the thought of receiving a gift...

He thought to whisper, in after thought, almost explaining. "I don't receive presents. I meant to ask the... meaning."

-=-=-=-

Connor did not answer immediately and instead reclined further into the pillows, twiddling his fingers as he stared down at them.

“I didn't know what to get you.” he muttered after a moments of silence. It was true. What could you possible give to the man who could buy whatever he wanted already? Instead it had to be something that couldn't be bought with money, something that held value in a different manner.

Now though, as Connor cast the small wooden carving a sideways glance... now he felt kinda stupid for choosing this of all things. It was still a toy after all, the only value of it being emotional.

But... Haytham was already holding it, and he did deserve to know what it meant now. “Mom... she gave that to me when I turned six. All the boys in school had this little toy soldiers to play with, based on popular TV shows and the like. It was a big hype back then, and I wanted them too, but... well, they were expensive.”

He shifted and then reached out, running a finger down the small statue's side – most of the paint had bladdered off over the years. “This one mom made herself.” He couldn't help but smile... it was a fond memory he treasured, that moment when six year old Connor tore the wrappings off and found this little wooden, hand carved toy soldier inside.

“I carried it with me everywhere I went. I remember this one time I misplaced it and, thinking I'd never see it again, threw the biggest fuss a six year old could make.” And the biggest tears of joy when Ziio found it under his closet after an hour of searching.

“I got more of these on my next birthdays, but this one always remained special because it was the first. The second one I got was smaller, and I...” Connor awkwardly cleared his throat and shifted again. “I used to pretend that the little one was me, and that this one... this one was you.” It felt weird admitting that, but it had been six-year-old-Connor's way of dealing with the fact that he had to grow up without a father figure... this little statue had been a substitute. “We used to go on many great adventures all over the world. I... lost the little one and all the others... this is the only one that remains.”

Connor sighed and leaned away a bit, abruptly pulling his hand away back to himself. “I'm sorry, I know that it's a stupid, useless gift but...“ He shrugged. It meant a lot to him; it was one of the few things of Ziio that he still had. Using this as a gift for Haytham had seemed like a good idea at the time because of the sentimental value, but now it made him feel dumb, for ever having entertained the idea. It was too late to take it back though.

“I'll get you something better next time, I promise...”

-=-=-=-

His thumb kept tracing it, repeatedly. Ziio had made it... well that made sense. He winced at their inability to afford toys, yet kept his eyes on the substitute. A substitute for his own absence in a non-existent world. The last one of its kind.

He didn't quite know what to say. A sentimental thought, so many of them today. This wasn't his typical demeanor by far. These issues encountered were far from standard. As it were, he could hardly fathom a response to show his gratitude.

Instead he slipped the figurine into his breast pocket. Gratitude was never an easily expressible emotion. Yet, with everything that happened between them...

"You should come with me to Barcelona, Venice... it's part of an organizational tour my company does once every year. I've gone the past decade yearly, sans company. " He found it boring after a few tours. But, perhaps with company it may improve. Doubtful but possible.

"I... must offer apologies for my own behavior."

Clearing his throat, Haytham finished the rest of his tea with a small wince. " I've been absent, unavailable in ways a person shouldn't when aware of another s grief, let alone my son's. And my behavior, yesterday..." He laughed, rising. Such an embarrassment, what was passing through his mind was beyond him. "I'm on my way to empty the contents of my liquor cabinet as it were. You're welcome to joi-"

A long, buzzing ring, and Haytham looked at the house phone uncertainly, before letting it ring. He'd answer William later. He needed a moment with his son for a change.

-=-=-=-

Hm... Venice? Barcelona? Heh, that'd be awesome! He'd never gone abroad before. “I'd like that.” What he liked even more was that Haytham seemed to accept the silly gift he had given him. Perhaps it wasn't so silly after all. He wouldn't have... put it in his breast pockets otherwise.

He glanced down as he heard the phone go off, frowning when his father ignored it. Odd... he always picked up, especially when the call came from someone at the company; William's name was flashing on the screen. Didn't that mean it was important?

Then again, today had been... odd to begin with. “I guess I deserved the puke in my waste bin. I wasn't exactly pleasant either yesterday.” He shrugged. Yeah... he really shouldn't have messed up Haytham's bed (even though it had been Bianca's idea).

“Are you sure you should be drinking though? You're still a little buzzed from last night and I'm _not_ cleaning up your barf a second time.” He stood up nonetheless. It was his father's birthday after all, they should have fun! Go somewhere or... or order a ton of take-out or... something! Anything!

And cake! Cake too, a birthday required one. He'd offer to bake one with him, only that he would probably be doing nothing of the baking out of fear he would blow up the kitchen. “So... what do you want to do today? Should be something fun...” He had already called off school... might as well enjoy the extra day off.

-=-=-=-

Snorting, Haytham grabbed a bottle of rum, opening it, and drained its content into the sink. "I meant literally empty my cabinet, lad. Pass me a bottle- no, not the wine, let's not get crazy- yes, the tequila would be fine." That too saw its contents dripped down the sink, the emptied bottles placed on the counter.

"Drinking is one of the less appealing things in this room." He offered Connor a playful wink, eyebrow raising as Connor blinked. Right. Dense as a door nail.

"I meant you lad." He explained it the way one would explain water is wet. "You are appealing. Undoubtedly it's probably what Bianca see's in you." Another bottle emptied, and Haytham's lip twitched upward slightly. "Although you are taken, I suppose I shouldn't be flirting."

And he was his son, though had hardly stopped him before. Still, Connor was taken off the market now, and Bianca seemed... well, seemed like a whore. She had sex on his bed, and while Connor had done so to be spiteful, she was just a whore. Ah, but it would pass, undoubtedly. A little fling of passion in his college years, no harm with it. So long as he used protection, he didn't want harlot in his blood line.

Well, he supposed... he could intervene. Just a tiny bit. To avoid said atrocity from happening. They were bonding, after all.

"You must tell me, Connor." He dropped the last bottle, leaning against the sink. Amusement laced grey blue eyes, Haytham fixing his son with stare. He picked up a spoon from the neighboring drawer, pressing it to his lips a licking a trail upwards. "… I owed you something, didn't I?" A grin, and Haytham stepped closer, smirk playing across his lips. "I don't suppose you'd still be willing to accept it as... perhaps, a truce of sorts?" He added playfully, a weight lifted from him for the first time in years. "It is my birthday, lad. I should be forgiven for _some_ of my follies."

He shouldn't be doing this, honestly... Connor deserved to have a normal relationship with someone his own age. Yet, watching eyes lock on his own lips, the dark skin and eyes of his son, there was no one as attractive. Connor had listened to him and was still here. Physical affection wasn't owed to him, but the weight his breast pocket was a reminder. They had some time to make up for, some fond memories to create.

They should start now, rather than wait longer.

-=-=-=-

“E-errrr...” Brown eyes followed the slow trail of a dark pink tongue gliding over the gleaming metal of the spoon. Well this was a sudden turn of events! One moment they were getting rid of all that blasted alcohol – which had been on Connor's to-do list anyway – and the next Haytham was... he was...! 

Connor swallowed thickly, his eyes wide as he took a step back until he bumped against the kitchen table behind him. His fingers gripped the edge tightly as he stared, not answering immediately as the words took time filtering through his brain.

Owed him something?

Oh right! The blow job, or rather the aftermath of it because Haytham had refused to participate in after-sex cuddling! “A truce?” he asked, noting that his voice had taken on a slightly breathless tone. Sex? But but but but, no. No, he was in a relationship now! He couldn't- Bianca wouldn't like it! It wasn't right!

His father was so close now, close enough Connor could feel his body heat; his fingers tightened their grip until his knuckles turned white and his lower lip sucked between his teeth. Bianca... 

Bianca would never know, would she?

No one knew, no one was supposed to know and no one would ever know, and... and because this was with his _father_ it... it didn't really count at cheating, did it? They weren't in a relationship and they never would be; they were just... father and son. Family, enjoying each other's company. They just... took it a step further than most, but it wasn't cheating! Right?

As long as he kept telling himself that he could believe it. It would be fine! He and Bianca could stay together and this... this could continue as well! Everyone was a winner!

It was wrong, he knew that... but... but...

“You ah...” Clearing his throat Connor eased his grip on the table and straightened a little, trying to ignore the growing heat between his legs. “You were rather... cruel, after I so graciously gave you that blow job. I... could forgive you for it... at a birthday discount.” A return-blow job would be nice.

-=-=-=-

A... birthday discount? An elegant eyebrow rose, Haytham guiding Connor to the kitchen table and patting it. "Shh, lad. Your mouth makes you so much less attractive when it's open and not full of cock." He took advantage then, fisting dark hair and plunged his tongue forward. Kisses were made to be ravishing, his tongue flitting across the roof of Connor's mouth and entwining with his. He smirked, separating and pushing Connor down, hand pressing to his chest until he lay flat on the table.

"Lift your hips, lad." Haytham's head dipped, tongue tracing over the slight bulge in Connor's pants, eyes meeting brown. He'd no intention of truly carrying on the aforementioned request, but a little show never _hurt_ anyone. It's not as if Connor would leave the table disappointed. No harm, no foul.

Besides, show him a good time and that little trick from previous days would disappear into nothingness. Unbuckling pants, Haytham took his sweet time, daring to grasp the zipper between his teeth and pull down, watching Connor's face as he did. Flushing for him already, it was almost to easy. The lad preoccupied his mind in moments of anger and pleasure like nothing else.

But first, a little tease. Haytham rose, licking the palm of his hand before pressing the palm over the warm, rigid flesh. A tight grip, and calloused fingers began to pump, thumb rubbing across Connor's head, smearing what lay there. "Raise your hips, lad." A soft reminder as Haytham continued his ministrations."Why limit the possibilities by wearing unnecessary garments?"

-=-=-=-

Connor's heated reply at that was swallowed by the sudden kiss he was yanked into. It wasn't gentle but Haytham couldn't seem to do gentle... he had already experienced that first hand more than once. Even so he did not resist the kiss and obediently opened his mouth to allow his father access, his own tongue curling and gliding over his.

It lasted way too short for his tastes; before he knew it Connor found himself flat on the table, blinking up at the ceiling. He had to pull himself up a bit further to make sure his butt rested on the wood as well, but Haytham seemed impatient; he had barely gotten into position before a wet hot tongue pressed against the growing bulge between his legs, licking him right through the fabric of his jeans. “O-oh fuck...” 

Oh god, oh yes, was he getting a blow job? Was he _finally_ getting a blow job from his father? Oh please let it be a blow job! It'd be fair!

Sucking his lower lip between his teeth Connor raised his head and glanced down, just in time to see Haytham take the zipper between his teeth; just the sight of this was enough to draw a moan from him, his face flushing red. Fuck that was hot!

Haytham's grip around his cock was so different from Bianca's; while they both had tight grips, Haytham's was tighter and... rougher. Rougher was a good word. Bianca's fingers were so soft and small... Haytham had larger hands and could fit more into his palm; Connor couldn't stop himself and bucked up, trying to fuck that tight heat his father's fist provided. The position made it difficult though; he couldn't reach the floor with his feet and that gave him nothing to push off against.

And that made the next order more than difficult; his feet scrabbled and slipped against the table legs, trying to find enough leverage to lift his hips with. “W-wait... wait.” Reaching down he gripped his pants and bucked up again with a grunt, and tried to push the material down as he did so. Stupid pants!

-=-=-=-

He scoffed, watching Connor's legs flail about pathetically before snorting. "Oh just sit still for a moment." It lacked bite, sounding almost amused. Grabbing the top of Connor's pants, he aided worming them below his lips, past strong thighs and past his knees, removing each foot before discarding them over his shoulder, ignoring the sound of clattering glass. Right. The bottles were still on counter. Whoops.

So Connor wasn't the only eager person, it hardly mattered. Haytham leaned over him, tapping legs apart so his knees had ample room, laying the rest of his body across the table, over the expanse of his son. He took a moment to admire skin, smooth and lightly muscled, before biting the nape of his neck in a quick nip. Not hard enough to mark, just to give him a little sting.

"Tell me lad." A liquid purr, silken and lust ridden filled the silence of the kitchen, Haytham pressing two fingers to Connor's mouth and resting his weight on the other arm. "How do multiple orgasms sound, hm?" He snickered above Connor, nipping either side of his lips, fingers tracing the seem. "Cooperate, and you may have your way yet. Now, suck." There was no question in his voice. He'd have him repeatedly at this very table until he couldn't remember anything foul that occurred the past year.

\--=-=-

Connor pursed his lips at him but stilled nonetheless, allowing Haytham to work his jeans off. He spread them immediately and trapped his father's waist between his legs. He felt like a piece of meat on display, the way Haytham was staring down at him, keeping him pinned between the smooth wood beneath him, and his body, and while it was somewhat embarrassing to be stared at like that, it was also very arousing. He didn't need to look down to know that his cock was nearly poking his father's stomach by now.

“Ah, careful!” Hissing he turned his head as Haytham licked over the spot he had just nipped... oh god, no bruises or marks, please! He couldn't explain those Bianca!

He turned his head back to face Haytham as he felt two fingers press against his lips, and the question made his face flush even more. Excuse you? Multiple orgasms? Connor swallowed thickly, his eyes widening a little... well that sounded... that sounded... The words got stock in his throat as he blinked at his father. It sounded great. It sounded better than great. He had always wondered how often he could go...

Fortunately the fingers gave him an excuse not to answer that – not that he could – and instead he parted his lips and stuck out his tongue, curling it around the fingers as he moaned loudly. He pulled them in, closing his lips around them and massaged the digits with his tongue, sliding it between and over them as his eyes fluttered close. His legs tightened around Haytham, and his hands drew up into his hair, toying with the red tie until it loosened and his long greying hair fell down in waves. He moaned again, louder this time, excitement getting the best of him.

He liked his father with his hair loose... he should walk around like that more often...

-=-=-=-

Grey eyes fought to remain open, watching Connor intently. Talented, supple, soft was every movement of his tongue. He rolled his hips, rubbing both against his son's erection and smearing pre cum along his son's naked thighs. He even ignored the pull of his hair tie, long hair falling about the two of them. He hadn't cut it in some time, but the lad seemed to like that. He could indulge, if but once.

Reluctant was he to pull his fingers away from the succulent mouth beneath him, but he forced himself too. Gritting his teeth to prevent a moan, Haytham had to pull away, slightly, legs still fighting to keep him in place. He chuckled, softly, kissing the moist lips beneath him. "Connor..." He managed to work his hand between them, playing with the cleft of his son's ass, thumb tracing his hole slowly before he pressed a single finger inside.

His eyes held a gleam as he addressed his son's surprise. "… you tell me to slow down." Twisting the one finger, he pressed his forehead to Connor's, wishing he had removed his own pants in entirety but pressed onward regardless. The sounds Connor made were too intoxicating.

"Is this slow enough, lad?" The second joined the first, but his pace remained sluggish. The stretch was slow, languid, muscles loosening around him, deliciously contracting every time he played with the small gland within. Control, there was nothing like being in control.

And he watched his son's face contort beneath him with a sense of pride, almost fully seeing him for the first time without a thought of regret. He hadn't noticed how... fascinating he was, with his twists and turns. Lots of low moans and rolling hips. And Haytham found himself swept away, lips leaning to press his as he whispered, breathlessly, "Connor-"

"Haytham you mad bastard, I've been trying to contact you for days-"

The door was practically off the hinges, Haytham's entire body freezing. Eyes widened, almost comically. There was nothing funny about this though as William marched right into the kitchen.

Wordlessly, eyes met each others, William's blue, shocked eyes still obviously not believing the scene in front of him. Taking a step back he shook his head, opening his mouth then shutting it, Haytham doing the only thing he could think of and covering Connor's body with his own, voice almost calm save for the quiver.

"William, shut the door and turn around, you imbecile." Like he needed anyone else to bare witness to this.

So much for a half decent end to his birthday. No, he watched William's form stagger away and pulled his fingers from Connor slowly. Oh the explaining to be had!

-=-=-=-

Connor's tongue followed the fingers as they pulled out, dripping with his saliva until they were out of reach, and his head fell back on the table. He almost whined, but swallowed it anyway when he felt fingers dip between his legs, probing and searching. He hadn't bottomed in eighth months... and the last time Haytham hadn't been particularly patient with him, pushing his fingers in too fast, too roughly.

He could help but tense as he felt the rough pad of his thumb trace his entrance, but this time Haytham moved slowly, easing his finger in. Connor's breath left him with a shuddering gasp, taking deep gulps of air as his toes curled and his legs tightened their grip. He had missed this, missed submitting to someone else, letting his father take control completely and own him in every sense of the word.

Connor's fingers clenched in Haytham's hair, carding through the strands as he tried to roll his hips and this time he moaned loudly as the tip of his finger brushed his prostate and his cock grazed over the rough texture of his father's shirt.

It was slow enough, Haytham was giving him enough time to adjust even as the second finger pressed its way inside his body, past squeezing, clenching muscles.

“Dad...” he whispered and his eyes closed again. “Dad... dad... da-ahh!” His bucked onto his fingers sharply as he pushed against his prostate harder this time, and Connor's back arched off the table, cock twitching. He squirmed and twisted, gasping in air as he almost choked on the constant flow of gasps, breathless moans and whispered “Dad's~”. His shirt stuck to his sweaty skin, uncomfortable and chafing as he slowly pushed his body further up the table until it no longer supported his head; it didn't matter, all the blood was rushing down to his cock already anyway.

“Dad, p-please... f-faster...”His words were barely more than whispers, but they were still audible over his gasps and the slick sounds coming from between his legs. He wanted more. He _needed_ more, it had been too long doing it like this and fingers were _not_ enough! Connor's grip on Haytham's hair tightened and pulled his face closer until his lips were close to his hair as he squirmed and rolled his hips towards him. “Please d-dad... please... I need you to fuck m-”

"Haytham you mad bastard, I've been trying to contact you for days-"

Connor let go of Haytham's hair immediately and his head flopped back, eyes wide as he stared at the upside-down figure of William standing in the doorway, looking back at them with a shocked expression on his face.

Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit! More weight on his chest and Connor realized that Haytham was leaning down, covering his body with his to keep things he didn't want William to see from view. How could he sound so calm?! They had been caught red-handed doing something that, while not hurting anyone, was taboo, not to mention illegal! They were so screwed!  
And still he could not stop squirming; trapped like this, with no where to go and Haytham's weight keeping him pinned his place, Connor had no choice but to endure the fingers that were still knuckle-deep inside of him, brushing his prostate whenever he moved. Squeezing his eyes shut Connor turned his head away from William, embarrassed beyond belief and tried his damnedest to keep his gasps and whines to a minimum.

Fuck, they were so, so screwed...

He didn't hear William leave, but Connor knew he had when Haytham straightened himself and slowly pulled his fingers out. Connor lunged himself off the table as soon as he could and made a mad grab for his discarded pants. He couldn't look at his father as he struggled to put them on with trembling fingers, and winced as he forced his hard cock back into his underwear and zipped himself up. Too bad that the discovery hadn't killed his boner...

“What do we do now?” he asked softly as he finished and turned, glancing at his father before he grabbed a towel and wet it in the sink to wipe his face clean of sweat. Ugh, he needed a shower... a cold one.

-=-=-=-

He needn't do much dressing, zipping up his pants over what was his aching erection and washing his hands. Brushing his hair back in place, Haytham grabbed the discarded tie and re-tied his hair at the nape of his neck. What did they do now? He wasn't quite sure.

"It's nothing to concern yourself with, lad." Breathing deeply, Haytham turned his attention to the closed door, eyes falling back on his son. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, nothing like himself or Ziio in that respect.

It made it easier to concentrate on what best suited him instead of guessing. No matter how distracting his wide eyes and trembling fingers were.

"Go to room for a little while. Wait, watch TV, play that odd bird game you seem to enjoy. I'll handle this." He was the older party, after all. And his father. The one responsible.

He absently patted his breast pocket, the small figurine poking his skin through his shirt, though not uncomfortably. Comical, how his first act of fatherhood would be defending the pseudo coupling of himself and his son. No matter.

"I'll see to William." A pause, before squeezing Connor's shoulder, a fleeting touch that lasted mere second before he withdrew. They were best friends after all.

Though as he opened the door he couldn't stop his eye from twitching at what was a look between horrified and angry pass his friend's face. Well.

"Afternoon, William. Would you like to come in?"

"Haytham." It was devoid of smile, William marching past and into the living room, seating himself on the couch and watching him with cold, distant eyes. "Care to explain what I just witnessed or should I start berating you now?"

Oh the fun. Haytham sat on the opposite chair, with a sigh. The fun indeed.

-=-=-=-

Go to his room? No. No! This was his problem too, it wasn't just Haytham's thing to fix.

… Then again... facing William now, after what he had seen... Connor didn't think that he could do it. He had always liked William, he really did... but he didn't even know what the man was thinking right now. William had seen him with his legs spread, arching his back and moaning like a whore on the kitchen table, with his father between his legs.

He didn't even want to imagine what that had looked like to someone like William...

No, he couldn't face William now. He watched his father go, touching his shoulders where his hand had briefly squeezed him, and sighed before he turned on his heel and quickly made his way to his bedroom before William came in.

The bed was still unmade but at least the heavy smell of old vomit had cleared up. He walked over to the window and pulled it close, locking it and slowly, almost mechanically began to pull the bed covers away to change them.

By the time he was done and his bed looked presentable again, his erection had flagged completely as well. Haytham and William were still talking in the living room. He still didn't want to show his face, but... but he was curious to hear what they were talking about. How... disgusted William was.

He opened his door as silently as possible; he really shouldn't be doing this but this involved him too; he had the right know, even if he had to eavesdrop on them. Tiptoeing his way through the hall he stopped near the door leading into the living room and took a deep breath, before pressing his ear against it.

-=-=-=-

Expression carefully blank, mask in place, Haytham made no move to comment. William seethed, practically crouching upon himself; his legs were crossed, arms were crossed, and he was given a look reserved for a few select people, namely Charles or Hickey whenever a new sexual harassment claim came to light that he had to fix.

In almost thirty years he's been given this look one other time. Haytham remained neutral, fighting to do so. "William-"

"Is this- was this a one time thing?" He could see the cogs turning in William's head as he attempted to make sense of things. "You've been staying away- I saw all those liquor bottles, perhaps you're both inebriated-"

"Do I seem inebriated, William?" It was an honest question, laced with something tired. William swallowed thickly.

"Tipsy then."

"Perhaps. But that would hardly impair my judgment in such a way." And they both knew that. 

"Haytham, I'm trying to-"

"To make sense of what you saw and find solace in an excuse. The issue remains, William, I have no excuse- not one that would eliminate the proper use of judgment." His chin remained held high, Haytham swallowing thickly as William glared at him, right leg shaking as he moved his foot upward and downward.

"A moment of passion then." Said through grit teeth, and Haytham shook his head.

"Not even that."

William let out a laugh, a cold, yet somehow bubbly chuckle. "You are trying my patience."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort. I'm simply offering you honesty."

Silence stretched again, William averting his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. "Tell me this was the only time this happened. You're both still grieving- you especially- and this was a way to comfort one another in some way." 

Haytham took a moment and nodded, and William visibly lost some tension, nodding. "That's certainly how it started."

"… All right. Okay." Something he could fathom, make sense of...

"It was hardly the reason for today."

He could practically hear the goosebumps waft over Williams skin. "… this isn't the first time?" It wasn't truly a question. As Haytham went to answer a hand waved dismissively, William adding."Whatever your _reasoning_ I'm sure this won't be happening again."

For the first time Haytham's eyes averted, looking into his breast pocket. The small wooden figurine remained visible, a physical reminder of what he was.

"… I can't promise that." Removing the toy from his pocket, Haytham stroked over the soldier. 

"Haytham, he's your _son!_ " William's anger was reaching a new height, a scathing tone overriding the typical kindness and Haytham cut him off before a further comment was made.

"Biologically, yes. Yes we share the same genetic information, yes it's illegal, yes it's not my most intelligent idea but I don't particularly care." A fist clenched the figure, tight in his palm. He heard a thud against the door but ignored it, hoping William would too. "I'm fond of the lad." William was eying the door and took a step towards it, only for Haytham to block his path.

"Haytham-"

"He was replacement for Ziio at first and little else. I could barely look at him some days, he reminded me of her so. So I'd bury myself in work until the feeling subsided and I could look at him again. The fact of the matter is, I've grown to like _him._ Not the memory of what I lost, but him as a person." He met Williams eyes. "For all his messiness, nagging, inability to make a proper cup of tea and horrible eavesdropping skills- and I emphasize the _horrible eavesdropping skills-_ " he tapped the door with his foot a few times, the barest of smiles twitching at Williams lips, "… he's enjoyable company." A pause, and Haytham almost grinned. "Don't tell him I said that."

"Oh never." William was still tense but let out a long sigh, looking between the door and Haytham. "You do know I don't approve of this."

"You've made that resoundingly clear."

"Mm." Again William looked to the door and frowned. "… you are both consenting adults in this case... I'd still like to speak to Connor about this as well."

"And you may get your chance too yet, just simply not today." Haytham looked toward the door for a moment. "He's embarrassed. Leave him be for now."

William sighed but acquiesced, and pointed a finger at Haytham. "You owe me a favor for this."

"Agreed. One of your choosing. Now, what was this important news you burst into my apartment to tell me?"

"Ah, that. Well I would like Connor present for that... it has to do with the case." He addressed the door this time, softly. "We've made a break in your mother's case, you may want to hear about it first hand."

-=-=-=-

The door opened slowly, just enough for Connor to peek through. He was determined to ignore the 'horrible eavesdropping skills' bit because it certainly wasn't that bad, and he didn't really have any intention of showing his face as long as William remained in the apartment, but.... this changed everything, didn't it?

Connor pushed the door open further and stepped inside, making a point not to look at William at all as he shuffled towards the couch and flopped down into the cushions. His arms crossed over his chest as he slumped further down, and turned his head to gaze at the wall. His face still showed signs of embarrassment, his cheeks still tinted red, and the muscles in his jaws bulged with how he was gritting and grinding his teeth together.

What kind of moron just barged into someone's home like that anyway, even if it was William? Did he have a key or something? He probably did... he was one of dad's best friends after all. But even so, he should have knocked or rang the doorbell or call ahead or- ah... but William had called ahead, hadn't he? Earlier that morning, when he had given Haytham the little wooden toy soldier? Haytham hadn't answered the phone, perhaps that had prompted William to come over here personally.

But even so!

He should have given them a damn warning that he was coming in!

“Connor-”

“I don't want to talk about what you just saw.” Connor cut in, still refusing to even look in William's general direction.

The man sighed. “I wasn't going to, Connor. Your father made that clear. We will talk, but not now.”

 _That_ earned him a heated glare, though it lasted barely more than a second before Connor promptly turned his gaze away again, seething silently. How dare William?! It wasn't his fucking job to berate him for anything, even on something like this! What he and his father were doing was completely, one hundred percent consensual from both sides and it wasn't hurting anyone... there was no need to turn this into a fucking problem!

William cleared his throat after it became clear that Connor was refusing to spare him another glance, heated or otherwise, and sighed. “Anyway, about the case...”

-=-=-=-

Indeed, the case. Haytham settled against the love seat, adjacent to Connor, not at all surprised when William placed himself between them. He barely resisted the urge to glare himself. Like he couldn't control the urge to sexually mount his son.

Fortunately for William, he was too invested in the news to be petty.

"… Some time ago they were able to narrow down the tires that left skid marks along side Ziio's car."

Haytham nodded, already knowledgeable on that topic. "Did they narrow down the car?"

"Not exactly. Connecticut, Boston, New York- they're densely populated with a lot of rental agencies available. Finding a larger vehicle was akin to finding a needle in the haystack, if you will. With so many cars taking the roads, and with that week being spring break- it just wasn't possible."

A pause, and Haytham nodded once. "So we're at a dead end."

"Well, that's just it, we were until the wreckage was looked through a little more closely." Reaching into his pocket, William pulled out the shell of a heavily dented bullet, almost completely scorched. "This was found embedded in the coolant reservoir. It was an explosive bullet used to shoot the front left wheel off the Mustang." 

Haytham's eyes twitched, gaze briefly drifting to Connor, before landing onto the bullet itself. "It's not a civilian weapon."

"Precisely." Placing the shell on the table, William continued. "And we traced the bullets to the gun type and examined the area. Every possible suspect has an alibi. Which means, of course, the weapon was illegal used and obtained or smuggled."

Haytham frowned, grey eyes narrowed. "… You aren't suggesting..."

"I can't be certain. This could have been a random crime but..." William paused, choosing his words carefully, eyes set on the casing before him. "There was no motive. Nothing stolen, nothing to gain. If someone wanted money they'd have taken Connor for ransom. A typical criminal could obtain a gun illegally, sure, but one of this size? Then, the fact that there was an accomplice..."

"It was intentional, then." Brows furrowed and Haytjam spoke quietly, more to himself. "They intentionally targeted Ziio."

"It would seem that way, given the road they choose, the time, the weapon type... all we're missing is who and why." William turned then, offering Connor a small frown despite his face remaining turned. "Was there anyone you told about your trip that could have held hostilities toward you or your mother?"

-=-=-=-

Despite his currently severe dislike for William, Connor found himself listening intently. His eyes fell on the heavily damaged bullet cartridge on the table and he felt his insides churn; that tiny thing had caused so much damage... so much loss... so much pain...

He still remembered it clearly; the darkness of the forests surrounding them, with only the street lights to brighten the way... the second car and the two people in it... the sight of that gun and the bright flash when the wheel exploded... the heat of the fire and... and his mother's dying screams.

Connor closed his eyes and dug his fingernails into his arms as he grit his teeth. There was nothing he could have done to save her... he knew that, and had been told so time and time again. There had been no time, the fire had moved to fast and if he had tried to get her out, he would have gotten caught in the explosion as well. He would have died too.

No, instead Ziio had told him to get out, to save himself... and he shouldn't feel guilty about that, that he lived and she had died, though part of him felt that way, even after all these months. It would probably never go away.

Who would have done this? And why? Ziio hadn't had any enemies, at least not as far as Connor was aware of. If this had been to get at Haytham, why try to kill them both? Why didn't they just kidnap both him and his mother and demand ransom money instead of blowing up the car?

What the hell had been the reason for this insane, cruel, unreasonable act?!

“No...” he muttered and shook his head. “After I dropped off the dinner leftover at the company I went back home and mom and I left for Boston an hour later. We spent the evening at a family friend's place – who had no part in this, by the way. I can guarantee that!” Sam had been so shocked to hear the news... he and his wife had attended the funeral as well. Connor hadn't talked to him since but there was no way... _no way_ that Sam had anything to do with mom's death!

Right? 

-=-=-=-

William sighed, extending his hand before deciding it was best, perhaps, to leave Connor be. Instead his gaze turned to Haytham, the neutral stare at the round almost unnerving. For a moment, Haytham lamented riding of the alcohol, before pushing the thought aside. No, best to deal with this head on.

"The updated information is greatly appreciated." William offered a nod, Haytham standing slowly. "I'd like time to consider all the implications this leaves." Namely, who would want Ziio and Connor dead. He had enemies, yes, but not to that extent. At least he hadn't gathered as much. "If you'd be so kind..." He wanted time to think this through with his son.

"… In a moment I will be." 

An elegant eyebrow raised, arms crossing over his chest. "Oh?"

"That debt you now owe me. I have a banquet to attend this evening. You and Connor are attending." There was a pause, Haytham watching the mischievous blue twinkle in William's eyes.

"… The catch?"

"No catch. Just a double date for the two of you, Connor with his new mystery girlfriend – yes, I know about it – and you with a woman or man of my choosing."

A twitch, and Haytham felt his eyes widen before he rapidly looked between William and Connor. "I'm not _ready_ to date." It was growled between grit teeth. William payed no mind.

"But you're ready to engage in other activities? " Another subtle twitch of his left eye, and Haytham glowered.

"What I do in the privacy of my own home is _none_ of your concern."

"I'd agree with you, under different circumstances, but this..." He motioned towards Connor, dead panning. "This has every right to concern me. Greatly."

"William, this is ridiculous!" 

William simply stood, offering Connor a pat on the shoulder whether he wanted it or not as he made his way toward the door.

"You're being spiteful” Haytham continued, anger building. “I yet lack the mental capacity to enter the realm of dating-"

"But you obtain the mental capacity to have intercourse with your son?" Haytham looked away, exhaling slowly. William offered no comforting gestures this time, stating simply. "It's for your own good. For the good of both of you. You'll thank me for this once day."

The door closed abruptly, and Haytham blinked. His pulse thrummed, maddeningly rapid... Bianca and Connor, on a double date... with _him?_ He said not a word to Connor as he slumped back on the couch, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Bloody fucking hell.

-=-=-=-

Connor resisted the growing urge to throw something at the door William had just walked through. That stuck-up asshole... this was none of his business and he wasn't interested in going to this fancy banquet of his! And he was sure it was Bianca's thing either...

“He needs to tone it down a bit.” he growled. Not fire him or anything, but William seemed to think that he could play boss over something that was very personal and private. He looked at his father for a few seconds and stood up, walking around the table to sit down next to him. 

“We're not really going through with this, are we? We don't owe him anything. He... he shouldn't have barged in like that in the first place!” Even if it had been for a good reason... not that the news William had brought had done anything to lift his mood. It hadn't answered anything... if anything it had left them with even more questions. Questions they would probably never get the answers too.

“We don't have to go...” he muttered and leaned forward, reaching up to tug Haytham's hand down from his face. “It's your birthday... we should stay home and do something fun. You know.” Perhaps... continue where they had left off? 

-=-=-=-

"Mm." He let Connor bat his hand away, silently fixing his gaze at the wall. Silence, and his eyes briefly flickered towards Connor.

So naive, and so young. That hopeful gleam in his eyes... Haytham tore his gaze away with burning reluctance. If Connor had any idea how this crippled him, perhaps he wouldn't grow angry at his decision.

"… There's a method to his madness, lad." He ignored the bitterness on his tongue as he spoke broken words. "Bianca's young..." _and stupid, where I am wise_ "… has a pretty sort of charm to her," where I am handsome "… and, she's... young." _in other words, very stupid because he couldn't fathom another quality she bore._

He forced his mask into place, though he slouched in his chair. "She's a better choice. I believe that is the point William is attempting to install in us. Granted his methods leave much to be desired, but he is right, after all." An index finger tapped his pocket, lips twitching upward. Somehow he still looked grim. " 'Tis the fatherly thing to do, I suppose." After years of bottled up secrecy, Connor had learned the truth, listened, and had _stayed._ Even now he wanted to stay.

And as a friend, as a father, Haytham was resurrecting the very dam he tore down, against his desires.

It hardly seemed fair, though he supposed his life was seldom so.

"If for my own sanity, attend the event with me." He rose suddenly, desiring nothing but silent solitude. "I could do with a fond friend in my corner as I attempt false courting." He left it unanswered, exiting to his bedroom. He hung his head the moment the door shut.

So much for expressing his fond feelings.

-=-=-=-

Connor's lips pressed into an agitated thin line as he frowned. So... what? He didn't... want to do this anymore? Not with him, because... because Bianca was younger and everything? Because William had made his displeasure clear? Since when did Haytham give a crap about what others thought of him?! He didn't say anything as he watched Haytham leave the living room, fist clenched at his sides.

So that was it then? Well... fine! Fine, whatever right? It was just... just sex anyway. It had always been _just sex._ Clearly it didn't matter that they both enjoyed it. This was Haytham's choice; if he didn't want this to continue, then fine! At least he still had Bianca, even though the sex did not compare at all. Not that it was bad or anything... quite the opposite in fact, but there was something about the way his father did it that he just _liked,_ despite it being rough two out of three times.

Whatever... no big loss...

It wasn't his problem anymore.

Connor returned to his own room and closed the door behind him, taking a moment to call Bianca to tell her that yes, his father was fine now and no, he wouldn't return to school for midday classes and yes, they could go out tonight, but it had strings attached to it.

To his surprise, Bianca didn't seem opposed to the idea of going on a double date with him, Haytham and a mystery woman to a fancy banquet on William's account, and she promised that she would make sure to look her best once they came to pick her up early in the evening (that he could believe with ease). It lifted his spirits a little... he still wasn't looking forward to tonight, but having Bianca there would definitely help him drag himself through it.

William hadn't specified a time. Connor was sure he'd hear in time, but he took out his suit out of the closet anyway and draped it over the bed, ready to put on when the time came.

He killed time playing video games, not leaving his room aside from a quick trip to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. He didn't want to say that he was... avoiding his father, which would be difficult to do soon anyway, but... he still felt like he needed some space.

This hadn't been a case of rejection because they _obviously_ weren't in a relationship and never would be, but it had still stung a bit. Nothing had changed, they just wouldn't intimate that way anymore, which was... fine. Really. Just sex after all...

He'd make sure to be pleasant company tonight, to make sure that Haytham had nothing to nit pick on and... and they would just continue to be father and son. Nothing less, but certainly nothing more either...

-=-=-=-

Clacking and tapping, quick scrolls and brief notations. From the companies’ stocks and accounts to his own business, he compulsively filed everything into Excel. Gliding fingers blatantly ignored messages bearing good will and birthday cheer. Ah the media, all but minor thorns in his side. Immersion was a necessity in times like these. Work need be accomplished in times of depression-

The very thought conjured a frown, Haytham’s brow furrowing. Depressed was a little strong. No, perhaps jostled. Surprised at the turn of events, and at William's own inconvenient arrival. Why, it would leave anyone in a state of shock, and angered. Yes, angered, that described it. He simply didn’t want a double date with the very harlot who soiled the sheets with _his_ son, after a few days of knowing him no less. Honestly, the idea that his son was comfortable sleeping with someone in that short a period of time was somewhat repulsive. Granted he was a lad and certainly experimenting, but have some _class!_ At least they knew each other for months before copulating, familial relations aside. 

Not that it mattered now. A sigh left him, Haytham taking a screen shot before staring at his background. It was a simple picture, he and Connor sitting in the office talking over lunch. William just had to ruin that moment too; Connor had left moments later, muttering about insane employees. Haytham hadn't returned home that night, for a reason he no longer recalled. 

Their eight months together hadn’t been all horrible. For all their disagreements, he was fond of Connor, despite his agonizingly disgusting habits. Never had he suspected growing accustomed to tip toeing around strewn about Mountain Dew cans and empty pizza boxes. Often the lad would fall asleep on the couch, Haytham catching the end of whatever movie he fancied. Occasionally, Connor would remain awake, inviting Haytham to watch. He’d seen the last forty minutes of Sucker Punch and Kick Ass about a dozen times by now.

Even his inability to cook was amusing now, save for the fact that he had almost burned down his kitchen once and managed burn what he thought was tomato paste into a blackened heap on his favorite cookware. He’d fumed at the time, caught between shutting off the smoke detector and attempting to salvage the wreckage of his pots. There was no reason they couldn’t still have that relationship. It was only the intimacy he had to give up.

The thought did nothing to brighten his mood. The intimacy- while brief and infrequent- was enjoyable. Yes the lad was his son, but he found that a stimulant rather than a deterrent…

Who could he trust – however minutely - if not his own blood? And he’d hardly been a father to him…Haytham's thought continued through his shower, through his forwarded calls, and even as he read the somewhat irritated text message written by William with the time of their meeting. He’d lost a comfort now- a potential friendship- simply because it made William uncomfortable.

It seemed horribly unfair. Haytham recalled his own words and winced. Lies, all of it. If Connor wanted a monogamous relationship with a single person he would have pushed his advances away. What Connor had wanted was _him,_ and what he had wanted was Connor. And now they were both unhappy, though Connor probably less so with that little hussy…

But their relationship was just sex. Of course. Haytham frowned, tying his hair back at the base of his neck before tossing it over his shoulder and beginning what would be braid that would reach his shoulder blades. No sense in morning, there was no time for regrets.

Fully dressed, Haytham emerged from his room, a tight red coat that narrowed at the waist and flared out at his hips laying comfortably over an equally tight black turtle neck. The two ribbons he wore matched the jacket, and it was all but unintentional. Fitted pants were a tad snug on his crotch but they’d do- it was a common enough problem for him as it were- and Haytham knocked softly, voice soft. “Lad, it’s almost departure time.” A brief pause and Haytham struggled for neutrality as he spoke. “I’m sure Bianca is anxious to ride a limousine. Let’s not keep our dates waiting.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8!
> 
> I bet you all saw 'it' coming, it was kinda hard not to, methinks. I will be updating the tags soon for chapter 9, since... yeah, it needs more warning tags. *ahem*  
> This chapter is about 15 pages longer than they usually are (39 pages, we usually go for around 24 per chapter). I like it, but it's not my favorite of the bunch to be honest (that'd be chapter 9 and everything that comes after that, but that is the sadist in me talking XD).
> 
> So yes, enjoy, and as per usual, any typos, errors, yada yada let me know and I'll fix it. Next chapter will be up on Saturday.

Connor emerged wearing the suit Haytham had gotten for him months ago, the same suit he had worn on his mother's funeral. Honestly he hated wearing the thing; it felt too restricting, the material too tight around his body. Uncomfortable, it made him uncomfortable.  
He would have gone in his every day clothing (including patched up tears and mud stains) to the banquet if it had been up to him and perhaps, a year ago, he would have. Now though... now he wouldn't embarrass his father by showing up like that. 

Hence the fucking suit, though Connor hadn't been able to resist putting a personal touch to it, in the form of a beaded arm band in red, white and blue around each upper arm, extra feathers in his hair, his boots instead of black polished shoes and his mother's bear claw necklace instead of a tie, because ties were for fancy briefcase people and he wasn't one of them!

He had expected to see Haytham in a suit as well, but instead he wore the red jacket he had worn on that one Christmas they had all shared as a family, including that particular black turtleneck that always clung to tightly around his chest and abs and- Connor cleared his throat and closed his bedroom door. Those thoughts were no longer appropriate...

The limousine stood waiting outside, minus Bianca and Haytham's mystery date. Minus William as well, but he was already at the banquet. The driver opened and closed the doors behind them, and Connor slumped down in the leather seat, chin cushioned in his hand as he stared out of the blackened windows. He so was _not_ looking forward to this.

They drove to Bianca's apartment, which was only a few blocks away. Connor got out and quickly made his way to the front door, unaware of the near-skip in his step. She opened immediately – to his surprise, didn't women always take hours to get ready? - and he smiled, letting his eyes roam over his figure, which earned him a smirk. The dress she wore was simple but elegant, dark burgundy with matching heels, her hair pinned up in a low bun and plain but shimmering jewelry around her wrist and neck and in her ears. Probably fake, but no less pretty.

“You look stunning.” he murmured and took her hand, but before he could lead her back to the limo her hand already fisted into his collar to pull him down into a short but heated kiss on her doorstep, her tongue swirling into his mouth.

“And you're very handsome as always.” she purred as she pulled back, smirking at the dazed look in his eyes. Hur, perhaps this double date wouldn't be so bad after all.

They walked back to the limo and Connor opened the door for her, letting her get into the car first before he climbed in after her.  
“Mr. Kenway, how are you? Better, I hope?” she asked and smoothed out her dress as she sat down, Connor flopping into the leather seat next to her, completely oblivious to the bright red lipstick that was smeared all over his lips.

-=-=-=-

A nonchalant response, that's what he'd aim for. Grey eyes focused on smeared lipstick, a frown twitching at lips. A look at Connor and Haytham halted.

Content, minutely aroused. Looking away, he forced himself to talk. "I'm quite alright, your concern is appreciated." A pause, and he averted his eyes from both of them. "Connor, you have something on your face. Hardly noticeable, really." If red lipstick smeared from chin to nose was a hardly noticeable event. Bianca laughed, and Haytham took to gazing out the window, just a tad more hollow than usual.

The next part of the ride was only a short distance, on the cusp of Little Italy. Haytham's eyes narrowed – what the hell were they doing _here_ of all places? - and retrieved his phone from his pocket, immediately dialing Williams number.

_"Oh so now you have a phone-"_

"Who set up this date?"

It was an accusation, and William stared at the phone, frowning. _"I did."_

"Don't lie to me. Who did you tell to set up this date?"

Again William glared at the phone, smiling politely at the other patrons seated beside him. _"I've been busy at the benefit, Haytham. I may have left it to Pitcairn who may have left it to someone else, but whoever was picked for you, I'm sure you'll survive-"_

An eye twitch and Haytham whispered into the phone. "You're a blithering idiot. " He hung up immediately, practically tossing it on the other side of the limo and grit his teeth. There would be no avoiding it, or _her._

"I was waiting for that door to open." That accented voice may have excited most men, but Haytham was immediately repulsed. Hickey was behind this. He just knew it! Fuck, he'd have his head.  
"Get in. Don't talk to me, don't mention your blasted children, do not make eye contact with my son, and I swear if you make more than three references regarding your breasts and or vagina I will throw you from this vehicle while driving and into the Hudson."

He spoke through the window, not even bothering to open the door for her as she laughed, red hair pulled back and her dress a matching crimson, her lips a dark ruby color and her breasts- as usual- perky and upright in the low cut design, threatening to spill over. Oh yes, she exuded class.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" The door shut behind her, Haytham moving over and gritting his teeth as he made place for her.

"Connor, Satan. Satan, Connor."

Again she laughed, Haytham only wishing his ear drums would implode as she held out a 'delicate' hand. No, he was not fooled. Perhaps long ago, but certainly not now. Nothing was classy or dainty about this woman.

"They call me Caterina. Carterina Sforza."

There was no backing away from this now. His night would end in disaster.

-=-=-=-

Connor blinked, and quickly reached to press his fingers against his lips; they came back lightly smeared with red and he felt his face flush. Oh balls! Next to him Bianca blinked innocently, her own lipstick still perfectly in place. Grumbling Connor fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and began wiping the red smear off his lips – ugh, so much of it too.

“You're so adorkable.” Bianca purred as she wrapped her arms around his and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Don't you mean adorable?” he muttered as he frowned at the red stain on the fabric in his hand and wished he had a mirror – had he gotten everything off?

“That too.” she answered and he rolled his eyes. He was _not_ adorable, nor adorkable! He was manly, dammit! Manly as hell! 

The limousine pulled to a stop in Little Italy a few moments later, Connor frowning at the short but angry phone call, and leaned forward. There was a woman, a very pretty woman in her thirties-something, with fire red hair and- hello! Ahem... and quite a rack.

This was Haytham's date?

She climbed into the car and Connor blinked at her as Haytham 'introduced' her; they knew each other then? “Connor...” he mumbled and shook her hand, watching as Bianca did the same after introducing herself as well. Caterina plastered herself into her seat next to Haytham, who looked ready to hurl himself out of the car himself. Okaaaaay?

“Your father never mentioned me?” she asked and Connor shrugged. Nope, he hadn't. “That's a shame.” she continued. “Of course I know _all_ about you.” A wink, and Connor felt his face go red for the second time in under five minutes, and promptly looked away, sputtering softly. Bianca frowned at her, alternating her gaze between his flushed face and Caterina's smirk, and pressed herself against Connor's side even more.

“Don't you worry, girl.” Caterina purred and waved her polished nails at her. “He's too young for me. I like my men experienced and well-seasoned. Right, Haytham?”

-=-=-=-

Oh no, no, no. He ignored the head on his shoulder, voice coming out as a strained growl. "Take your harpy claws out of my son and set your target elsewhere."

He could feel her smile, her laugh a low rumble against his shoulder. Pushing her away would do no good, she may even request he do it again. He knew this for a fact...

"Well, look who's protective of their offspring." Licking her lips, Haytham caught the blown kiss out of his peripheral, an exasperated sigh leaving him. 

"Do you still enjoy being called daddy, or has that little kink passed now with your actual status as such?"

A blank stare, and Haytham deadpanned with out emotion. "You've me mistaken for one of your john's I'm afraid."

"Mm, I don't think so." A devilish grin and she smothered himself onto his arm, breasts heaving as she began to make what were fair sounding noises of pleasure. "Oh, oh, Haytham, oh daddy, don't stop. You and your massive co-"

The sound of his door unlocking caught her attention, his hand on the handle. Her eyes narrowed.

"… So Connor." She changed her attention to him, smirking at the almost afraid look he bore. "Did you inherit your father's... gifts?"

"What did I say about communicating with my son?" 

She scoffed, laying back against the leather. "We're going to be at this charity for a few hours, I can talk to whom I wish."

"Catherine, I will push you into the Hudson."

Her eyes glanced to his hand, knuckles so tight on the door handle they were white. Hm. "… Bianca, such a pretty name for such a pretty girl." Delicately, Caterina adjusted her earrings, sighing softly. "Did he inherit his father's cock? " She peered into shocked brown eyes with a grin. "A simple nod will suffice."

"Catherine-" A warning growl, but she ignored it.

"If he's massive it's inherited." A pause, and she fingered a loose strand of hair. "I usually prefer the hot blood of my own kind, but his hard, rough demeanor far surpassed my husband and his..." Her pinky moved, upward and downward. "A _salsicha,_ that's what he had. Yes, yes that would describe it best-"

"I'll buy you a car if you shut up."

She blinked once, fingering a diamond bracelet. "Now now, you know what a girl's best friend is."

"A necklace then, for thirty minutes of silence." If only because everyone in the damned car looked about as ready to jump out as he did.

A gesture across her lips and she sat back with a grin, draping a long leg over Haytham's lap and pecking the side of his cheek. "Your wish, my command _daddy._ "

His body sat limply next to hers, unmoving as she kissed him. No, his gaze remained on the passing scenery, lips pressed to a thin line. This night would be the death of him.

-=-=-=-

Connor wished he could sink right through the fancy leather interior of the limousine. How, _why_ had the conversation turned the size of his cock? Why? What had he done to deserve this?

He had never been so glad to step out into the fresh evening air when the car finally pulled to a stop in front of the restaurant. The wind felt cool against his face, which he knew was still embarrassingly tinged red. After they had all gotten out he took Bianca's hand in his as as the limousine drove away to pick them up again at a later hour, following Haytham and Caterina into the building. 

A waiter checked off their names and led them through the many tables already taken, all the way to a larger table where William was already seated and waiting for them. As soon as he saw them he stood up, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Haytham, Connor, glad you could make it!” His eyes fell on Caterina... huh, interesting choice. Perhaps a little dangerous considering how much Haytham hated her, but Hickey had never been the smartest of them all and his taste in women was notorious. 

Ah, and there was Connor's mystery girl friend. Pretty, but she didn't seem like Connor's type. Ah, what did he knew... better he dated a pretty girl then... the other thing. He shook hands with the two women and sat down again, ignoring the angry glare Haytham sent his way as Connor pulled a chair back for Bianca. “Connor, there's something on your face...”

The boy blinked at him, and William tapped the corner of his mouth. It looked like lipstick? Connor's eyes widened and quickly brushes his sleeve over his mouth with more force than was necessary, almost throwing himself into his seat once he was done as Bianca giggled softly. So adorable...

“Thank you for inviting us, Mr. Johnson.” She batted her eyelashes at him and William waved it away.

“Oh, it's my pleasure. Haytham needed to get out and meet _other_ people.”

-=-=-=-

Meet _other_ people? An eye twitched, watching the on going tet-a-tet between Connor and Bianca. Caterina nuzzled him closer, her perfume subtle, sweet; her very antithesis.

William dared to smile at him, touching his jaw. "You have something on your face as well."

"Fuck you, William."

He laughed it off, blue eyes intently watching as Haytham obviously stiffened every time Caterina nuzzled his neck. "Really though, you may want to wipe that off."

"What, my grimace of displeasure? It's a birthmark, I swear." He didn't hesitate as a waiter walked over, ushering him and immediately handing him a a twenty and his credit card. "Brandy. If I get it under a minute you can keep the twenty."

He'd never received a drink faster, William clearing his throat. Alright, Haytham may not be thrilled, but Connor looked happy. That was the purpose of this after all, and Haytham would come to see he was right.

"They're cute, aren't they?" Caterina nudged William, who had been looking at Connor and Bianca. "Reminds me of myself and Haytham when we were younger, perhaps a little more prude but..." Another kiss to his face and she moved to press herself to him entirely. "We can't all be wild and adventurous, can we?"

Haytham grumbled. Psh, if only she knew what adventures he and Connor had... in his bed no less. A second look at Bianca and Haytham could see it now... she did resemble Caterina in a sort of way.

Nails left their indentations in his hand. "Another brandy." He needed all the brandy he could get.

-=-=-=-

Connor tried to ignore the conversation around him as best he could. He felt so out of place here and not even his father was pleasant company right now.

Waiters came to take their orders and Connor picked the first thing on the menu that caught his eyes, not really looking at the details; this sooner they got this over with the sooner they could go home. Bianca and Caterina quickly fell into a conversation, which he tried to block out, while William engaged a still angry looking Haytham into a conversation concerning the company, leaving Connor to entertain himself for a while.

The restaurant looked nice enough... four stars, it seemed, with mostly fancy briefcase people and their snobby wives dining at the table. Nope, he still much preferred the normalcy of the Red Mango over a place like this... not that he worked there anymore. Couldn't do it anymore... it was too close to New Rochelle for his liking. That, and it wasn't like he so desperately needed the money anymore anyway.

The waiters returned with their orders and Connor blinked at his plate, not recognizing half of what was on there. He had thought he had ordered something edible? He was supposed to eat this? Frowning he prodded some of it with his fork, a frown on his face and he grimaced. He recognized some of the vegetables and the meat looked fine too, but everything else? Nope. Nu-uh!

He was halfway through picking and pushing edible, recognizable parts of his meal to one side of his plate and the other stuff he wouldn't eat even if he was getting paid for it to the other side when he felt a hand on his thigh. “Picky eater, huh?”

He looked up and blinked, staring at Bianca's smiling face, and shrugged. “I don't know what half this shit is, and I'm not eating anything I don't know the origins from.” he muttered and shoved another piece he couldn't figure out to the side.

“Haw, you're so cute, Connor.” she whispered and Connor's brows lowered, already opening his mouth to tell her that no, he wasn't cute... when her hand suddenly drifted between his legs and pressed against his crotch. He stiffened immediately, eyes widening and glanced down. The table cloth hid everything from view, but... but...! They were in public! They couldn't... she couldn't... she _wouldn't...!_

His fork clattered on his plate as his knee banged against the underside of the table, thin fingers stroking him through his pants. Everyone looked up in the midst of conversation and stared at him, and Connor quickly cast his eyes down feeling heat creep onto his face. “S-sorry... slipped...” Picking up his fork again he silently damned Bianca for doing this to him in a fucking four star restaurant, and praised her at the same time for her skill: he was already hardening, his cock straining and pushing against the zipper of his pants as she massaged it and his balls through the fabric.

She kept her eyes on her plate, silently chewing on a piece of broccoli; her face betrayed nothing even as her fingers _squeezed_ and her palm _rolled_ and Connor sucked in a gasp, sitting up straighter.

“You alright?” William asked as he noted Connor's increasingly reddening face, a small bead of sweat dribbling down his temple. His breathing was picking up, his shoulders were trembling slightly and his grip on his fork was so tight his knuckles turned white.

“I'm fine.” he answered through gritted teeth and fought to keep his expression calm and neutral as Bianca's fingers moved to the zipper, much to his horror. _Nonononononononono they'd hear!_

His fork clattered again as he abruptly stood up, managed a quick “Pee break!” and stormed off towards the men's restroom. Bianca impaled another piece on her fork, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. He was so cute...

-=-=-=-

Every reply was a terse word and nothing more. There was little William could say to sway his mood, and in all honestly Haytham wished he'd halt his blabber and go elsewhere.

That of course would mean noticing Caterina's existence or worse, acknowledging Bianca existed and attempting to engage in conversation. Lord knows what those two were conversing about and quite frankly he couldn't care less-

The first clatter caught his attention; Connor looked flushed, a trickle of sweet rolling down his face. Odd, it wasn't overly warm in the restaurant, nor had anyone said anything to make him flush.

Haytham watched further as he jumped, eyes narrowing as his fork clattered again before he excused himself, turning far too quickly.

"Excuse me." It wasn't a question, and he ignored William's stare as he followed Connor to the restroom. Honestly, what would he do in a public facility, offer a sexual favor? Ghastly, bleh.

Naturally Connor wasn't in a stall, but washing his face and hands bear the sink. Haytham paused, silently watching for a moment, before abruptly adding as his eyes fell on his mirrored reflection: "That necklace suits you, lad."

He ignored the jump and the slight glare he received, careful not to touch anything. "Everything suits you meticulously, save for the suit oddly enough." It wasn't an insult, Haytham grabbing a paper towel and handing it to him. "… She seems like a bore. I expected someone more cutting edge with what occurred in my absence, but she's fairly quiet."

And you never trust the quiet ones. A bit of information he learned early onward, but he supposed it wasn't his place. Or was it? Would that be considered fatherly advice?

"… I don't trust her, lad." His voice had softened around the edges, greatly. "There is something about her... she reminds me of Catherine. Physicality first and words a secondary afterthought." Haytham braced himself, catching Connor's reflection in the mirror. "Tread cautiously." He swallowed thickly, adding, "Consider it a fatherly reminder if nothing else."

-=-=-=-

There was no one present in the restroom, thank the Gods. Connor moved straight towards the sink and turned on the tap, splashing cold water into his face. Ugh... as much as he loved Bianca's tendency to give him random hand jobs and blow jobs without needing to be asked... he'd rather she didn't do it in _public/_ It was common sense!

The door opened again and Connor didn't have to look up to know who it was, and instead splashed more water into his face. Rubbing the cool liquid out of his eyes he glanced at the necklace and frowned. Really? “I've only been wearing this for eight months, don't tell me it took you that long to notice...” he muttered and snatched the offered paper towel out of Haytham's hand.

Oh no, he was _not_ in the mood for a lecture! Throwing the paper towel away after drying his face he turned and fixed his father with a glare. “You don't even _know_ her, how can you claim she's not to be trusted? There's nothing wrong with her!” She was just a little... eager to get touchy. “She's a great girl and just because _you_ have apparent bad experiences with this Caterina woman, and Bianca reminds you of her does _not_ make her a bore!” Or a sleeze or a skank or whatever it was Haytham thought of her.

That and Bianca was far from quiet... she was quite the howler in bed.

“I don't understand why you dislike her so much.” Fuck, he did not want to be having this conversation. Unfortunately he couldn't leave yet, not until his erection had died down again.

The door opened again; it wasn't William but an elderly man, nearly bald with small glasses and a cane. He stopped in the doorway and tilted his head back, staring at Connor down his nose and taking in the feathers and arm bands with a clear distaste in his expression.

Connor did not want to be dealing with _this_ either, he got enough racist shit from Lee. “What the _hell_ are you looking at?!” he snapped and took a hard step forward; the man's eyes widened and he abruptly turned, muttering under his breath about today's youth as he left again.

Gritting his teeth Connor turned his back on the door again. Bah, he shouldn't have come to this stupid banquet. “... I like her, dad. A lot.” He glanced at Haytham over his shoulder. “I don't want a fight. All I ask that you respect that.” 

-=-=-=-

So much for a damn compliment... he frowned, watching Connor leave and staying behind just for a moment. Not for suspicions sake, no, but simply because- perhaps- the lad had a point.

Bianca and he may have had relations on his bed, yes, and perhaps their gratuitous, sexual relationship irked him in it's quickness to form... and perhaps, even to himself he could admit the twinge of... of...

 _Jealousy?_ He winced, but... it was perfectly acceptable for her to present physical affections after hardly a week. He'd known the lad for far longer, and while they were bound by blood he was hardly a true father to him. In the privacy of his own home, he should be allowed to fornicate, lay, celibate with whomever he damn well pleased. For comforts sake, for fun, or for the hell of it.

He walked back to the table, no less heated and sat down, eyes rolling as a leg draped over his lap. "What are you up to, hm?"

"Using the facilities. Nothing horribly exciting." A dead pan, Haytham's eyes occasionally glancing over Connor, watching for any odd signs.

"I could make it exciting." Whispered, a hot puff of breath in his ear, and a hand drifted up his thigh, quickly moving to the outline of his cock and offering a squeeze. He remained unmoving, face blank.

"Touch my cock again and you'll walk away armless." 

She pouted, hand squeezing his thigh."But all the cool kids are doing it, daddy." 

Grey eyes rolled, Caterina nipping his ear lobe, much to his annoyance. Of course that would feel nice. It made concentrating a tad more difficult.

He tried anyway, unintentionally tilting his head, but he swatted her hand away again as it made another move. "The 'cool kids?' " 

She chuckled, gesturing across the table, to Connor's flushed face. "When there are a lack of words expressed what else reddens a man and leaves him breathless?"

-=-=-=-

Connor flopped back into his seat next to Bianca and picked up his fork again.

“You done peeing?” Bianca asked and he bristled, prodding at his food. 

“Shut up...” And don't do that again!

Haytham returned seconds later, but Connor ignored him... or tried to anyway, as it was hard to do with Caterina plastering herself all over him. He could understand why Haytham seemed to hate her so much; compared to her Bianca was a prude! Didn't she have any sense of self worth? Of shame, dignity?

This whole fucking banquet was a complete and utter disaster, a waste of time and even William was starting to look like he had come to the same conclusion, with the way he was keeping his eyes on his plate trying to ignore the commotion next to him.

“Can we please talk about something else?” Connor hissed through gritted teeth and glared at Caterina, who immediately offered a wink in return. Fucking bitch...

“Ah, but we're having so much fun, Connor!”

Pfft, you maybe. “Your idea of 'fun' is clearly very different from mine and his.” he muttered with a nod to his father and looked at his plate again. His appetite was gone and his food was cooling... there was no way he was going to finish this. Glaring at a potato slice as if it had been personally responsible for the crappy company he was in Connor didn't notice how Bianca and Caterina were eying each other with knowing looks... not until he suddenly felt the hand creep between his legs again and his knee banged against the table a second time as he jerked.

Fucking hell, Bianca!

-=-=-=-

Grey eyes widened and narrowed, the only part of him displaying emotion. Mistaken, surely, Caterina had to be. Certainly Bianca didn't exhibit tendencies that _whoreish!_  
Connor wouldn't tolerate such tactless behavior. Much unlike himself, Connor lacked the ability to keep his emotions secret. A reaction would have been merited.

… Though, Connor's behavior -flushing cheeks, clumsy motions, clattering and sputtering about, his departure- that was a reaction of sorts. That and Bianca did fornicate with his son atop of his bed within what, three days of meeting him? And while he hadn't personally witnessed the initiation of the kiss when they had picked her up, undoubtedly she initiated the obvious, irritating _public_ display of affection.

Gaze lingering on his son's face, he watched the subtle appearance of a flush spreading over cheeks, perspiration gathering at his forehead, the ways his eyes darted to Bianca, nervously as he visibly attempted to move away...

"You can see it now, right?" The same delicate had slipped over him, squeezing harder this time. Lips pressed to the lobe of his ear, words a soft murmur. "Relax, Haytham." Her leg draped over his lap, her palm rubbing against him slowly, teasingly. "Let me take care of you."

"...Mm." Leaning back, Haytham extended his legs, using one foot as leverage and pulling his other foot from his shoe. Definitive, empirical proof. He reached out with it, his foot hovering over Connor's legs, Haytham daring to whisper as it traveled further upward. "She's rather nonchalant about it." 

"Mmm, well, perhaps she is like me. Young and well seasoned in the art of pleasing men." 

His face was staggeringly neutral excluding the sole twitch of his left eye."You mean she too is a harlot using her attractive appearance to manipulate my son for... what? Sexual gratification? Financial gain?"

"Why not both?" Taking no offense, she slipped her hand into his pants, groping and tugging lightly. "Your son is an adult, let him fend for himself."

His foot hovered, big toe hitting what was flesh. Bianca's eyes met him from across the table, made up eyelids fluttering as her arm jerked slightly at the touch before a sheepish smile was shot his way. So, Caterina was not incorrect in her assumption...

Great _whores_ thought alike.

He hardly resisted the urge to kick, voice low and soft, barely loud enough for the table to hear. "Bianca, such an attractive, young woman." When she visibly relaxed, Haytham offered a smile. "Such a perfected poker face for one so young. Tell me, dear, I know my troublesome past contributes to my lack of emotional ineptitude." He gestured vaguely, with his head. "Caterina is a whore and as such is expected to wear a blank, brave face to hide her internal misery and what are massive parental issues, likely stemming from issues with her father-"

The hand on his cock abruptly left and Haytham's lips twitched, eyes betraying what were sinister intentions.

"Haytham." It was whispered from William, and while it may have had an impact, his rage was an enveloping, consuming, raw.

"- my point is, Bianca- my stone faced dear- how often do you stimulate your partners under the table of four star restaurants with their father's present?" His own tongue stung from the venom laced words, eyes cold, distant, and yet blazing with a foreign rage. Her gaping mouth only allowed him to twist the knife further.

"Perhaps as often as you have sex on said father's beds? Do you often sleep with men after knowing them for a full three days? Is that an extended period of time to _your_ type of person?" He turned to Caterina, expectantly. "Well? Is it? I'm not acquainted with the passage of time in _harlotry._ "

"Haytham!" Still a hushed whisper, and William was by his side, grabbing his arm, a vein attempt to make him leave. Caterina bristled, cursing in what was Italian, and they were beginning to attract attention now, with William standing by him and Caterina's loud cursing.

Even so, Haytham lifted his glass, sipping, eyes never leaving Bianca's even as he lowered his leg, returning his foot to his shoe. "No need to fret. At such a young age, concubines with your staggering ability to keep emotions from ones face often procure large sums of money from clientele. It seems like a line of work you may want to consider, given your inability to be indiscreet concerning your sexual endeavors and, oh what's the word I'm looking for..." His hand waved, vaguely, grandly until he spoke with nothing short of a sneer, "… your capacity to trap down trodden men between your succubus-like vices."

"How dare you..." Oh a response at long last, finally some of that fiery red- headed finesse. "… you have no right to insinuate anything! I'm not some stupid whore, you'll regret saying this!"

A snort, and Haytham covered his mouth, fighting the small laugh before flipping his braid with a slight turn of his head. "Dear, in a life of much sadness, mistakes, and horrible deeds, I have yet to have a regret one until this very moment. The only regret I have is not being able to adequately insult you the way you _so_ deserve, but alas, I lack the capacity to descend to that street urchin level of tactlessness and stupidity, and am forced to utilize superior vocabulary and education that is _clearly_ far beyond your range, lest you'd realize I'm not _insinuating_ anything." He leaned across the table, hand resting in the palm of his head. Caterina had taken off in a large fit of rage, loudly cursing as William attempted to quiet her. Haytham payed no mind, glee etched clearly into his face.

"I'm calling you a classless, tactless waste, that needs to stay the hell away from my son lest he be dragged to your level of vulgarity." A pause, and he removed himself from the table, eying Connor for the first time in a few minutes. "… Lad, let's go home." Together. It had become entirely too clear that William had no idea what was _good_ for him, nor had he any right to presume so.

They'd have a talk when they'd arrive, and Haytham would have to succumb to an apology. Connor's company was far more enjoyable, and he had at least some semblance of tact. With any luck, he could end the night on a high note, with Connor perhaps sharing his bed tonight after his admittance of incorrect assumptions.

But judging from the look on Connor's face, Haytham's much needed- and desired- plans were not a likelihood in the least. 

-=-=-=-

No no no no shit fuck balls no...

This was _not_ happening.

Connor pressed his forehead against the table and wrapped his arms around his head, desperately trying to block out his father's heated words. Bianca's hand left him, for which he was glad, yes – he didn't need an erection now – but dammit dad, this was /his/ problem to deal with!

And even so, this wasn't the way to solve it, flinging horrible, _horrible_ insults left and right! Bianca was trembling next to him and as he glanced up he could see the tears brimming in her eyes. She was _not_ a whore! Where Caterina was concerned he didn't know nor cared, but Bianca... Bianca was amazing and Haytham had _no right_ to say such things to her!

He stood up as Haytham finally made eye contact with him, and he returned it with a heated stare. Yes, he wanted to go home – people were staring, whispering, pointing even, but; “We're taking Bianca home first. And I will _not_ hear another word on the matter!” Taking her hand he squeezed it softly and led her away from the table to get her coat. It hurt him to see her like this... Haytham's words had hit hard. If he had punched her in the face it would have probably hurt less...

The limousine was only a short call away. Caterina had stormed off and William had gone after her, but Connor wasn't in the mood to wait for them. William had his own car, he could take Caterina home.

No one said anything as they drove towards Bianca's apartment. She sat silently, leaning against him as he held his arms protectively wrapped around her. Her tears had ruined her mascara and it was rubbing off against his clothed shoulder, but Connor couldn't care less... he just tightened his hold around her and pressed a soft kiss against the top of her head.

Once they arrived Connor left the car as well and walked her to the front door. “I apologize...” he muttered. “For my father's behavior. He shouldn't-”

“It's alright...” she whispered as she searched for her keys. Her voice was still thick.

“No it's not alright. He had no right to say those things to you! Bianca, look at me...”

She reluctantly turned and Connor placed his hands on her shoulders. “I'm not trying to justify his actions, what he did was wrong... you see, William said something earlier today that... kinda pissed him off. He didn't want to go on this date, and I think he was taking it out on you. That doesn't make it right, but I think that was the cause of this. I'll talk to him, and I'll get him to apologize to you, I promise. So no more tears, alright?” He brushed his thumb along the bottom of her eyes, first the one than the other, and she managed a small smile before nodding.

“I... I'm sorry for t-the...” She waved her hand, and Connor cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Yeah well um... it was _nice_ but being in public kinda killed it.”

She chuckled softly and moved to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. Just a hug, nothing more, and he returned it gently. “See you tomorrow then?”

“Yes...” Perhaps he could buy her something nice tomorrow to cheer her up with. “Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight Connor.”

He waited until the door closed behind her and turned, his eyebrows lowering into an angry frown as he walked back towards the waiting limo. Yanking the door open he climbed inside and threw himself into his seat, pulling the door shut and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well?” He fixed his father with a furious look, glaring imaginary daggers at him, eyes flashing. 

-=-=-=-

Well duh they'd take her home first. Caterina was off probably felating someone and quite frankly William could literally go fuck himself. That left their apartment and Bianca's place, of course she was going home first!

Her dripping mascara and tears, they should inspire some sort of sadness, shouldn't they? Instead there was a static silence, nothing but white hot rage resurfacing at every small, whimpered breath.

And Connor's arms, around _her,_ comforting _her,_ as if he didn't feel a damn _thing._ After everything he'd been through today was there but an ounce of kindness spared for him? He just lost the one comfort he'd come accustomed to in the slightest of ways, what made his loss bearable, and the tears of some girl he hardly knew were so much different?

Teeth ground as Connor left, leaving Haytham waiting until he with a glare that had the audacity to demand answers. 

"Well?"

Silence, and Haytham sat across from him in silence that consumed him. Rage lingered off his body, and he waited for the limo to start to drive before he simply looked out the window. Seconds ticked by, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle erratically jumped. He had walked her to the door, he'd see her again... everything tonight would be a result of _his_ fault. He'd bare the blame again, when it was he was hurting due to the actions of others.

He'd put the girl in her place, the same with Caterina. William to would be put in his place soon enough, and if Connor couldn't see how unfair it was... how he couldn't even get a fucking kiss between closed doors, yet this _woman_ who didn't know him half as well as Haytham did managed to... he couldn't fathom it. He was just sex to the lad, wasn't he?

A father he could bang and leave as he pleased. A convenience and little else. He'd grown soft in his fondness and... Haytham shut his eyes. Stupid old _fool._ Blood meant nothing, he should know that. Fond feelings he held were wasted.

"… Pack your things and leave."

Fingers dug into his palm, the car halting and he stepped out without waiting, taking the elevator up without Connor. By the time Connor reached the apartment Haytham already had his own keys in hand, two outfits packed in a carry on. He found himself unable to even look at him, stepping aside to give him room to pass and little else. He was just like everyone _else._

-=-=-=-

Silence. 

So he wasn't even going to explain himself? Well... fine then! Abruptly turned his head away Connor glared at the window. Two could play this game...

It wasn't until Haytham finally opened his mouth again that Connor stopped his glaring, and the words were those he had never expected to hear. Leave?

He could only stare in shock as his father left the car without another word and marched into the building to take the elevator up to their... _his_ apartment.

He was kicking him _out?_

“Sir?”

Connor ignored the driver's question over the intercom, still trying to process what he had just been told. He had just been kicked out... kicked out of his home because... because Haytham had issues with his girlfriend! What in the hell?!

“Sir, are you alright?”

Connor's mouth closed with a clack and he blinked furiously, feeling his heart erratically beat away in his chest. And to think that this morning... this morning they had celebrated Haytham's birthday and he had given his father something that had meant a lot to him. They'd had sex on the kitchen counter afterwards and it had been amazing and he had felt wanted and needed and... and now... when had it all gone so fucked up?

“Thanks for the ride...” he muttered softly and opened the door, dragging himself out of the limo and ignoring the worried calls from the driver as he walked up the steps to the lobby.

When the elevator doors opened again he found Haytham with his keys in his hand, a bag holding clothes on the floor. Connor knew what that meant; his father was planning on bunking in the office again. “No need for that.” he growled as he pushed past him and called out over his shoulder as he made his way to his bedroom. “Seeing as I will be /leaving/ you will have the whole goddamn place to yourself again, just like you _want!_ I will not bother again with my presence.”

He slammed his door shut and leaned against the wood, breathing heavily. This was fucked... fucked!

In the end it only took him a few minutes to gather his belongings; emptying most of his clothes into his bag with only the most important personal items along with it. Grabbing it he stepped out again and took his apartment key off his keyring, tossing it on the table; he had no need of it any more.

“For the record, you're a fucking hypocrite.” he hissed as he reached for his coat. “I was perfectly willing to continue where we had left off after William left, but you didn't want to. You made it perfectly clear that Bianca was the better choice because she's my age and everything, and that it was best to stop whatever we were doing, that William was right. And then you went and did a full 180 by trying to drive us apart! Your jealousy, dad, is _pathetic!_ ”

Shrugging on his coat Connor picked up his bag again and hoisted the strap over his shoulder. “You can keep the gift I gave you to keep you company, seeing as you're doing a wonderful job at driving _everyone else away._ ” With that Connor stepped through the doorway, “Happy birthday, dad.” and, hating how his voice had cracked on those last three words, slammed it shut behind him.

There was no fixing this... not unless Haytham got over his stupid jealousy, not until he was willing to try to repair it... and for now, Connor wasn't willing to do so either. He blinked the tears away as he took the elevator back down to the lobby and stepped into the cool night air, flagging down a cab to take him to Bianca's apartment.

-=-=-=-

If he were any less put together, he'd have responded. A hypocrite? No, there was nothing hypocritical about it. He'd wanted to believe Bianca was a better fit; he had been selfless damn it! Throwing his own emotions aside- he was older, he'd die sooner, what then would become of Connor who lived with him, ate with him, slept with him? Even if it was just sex, he was crippling him. He'd see that and realize it.

Or that's how Haytham _rationalized_ it because of _William._ Clarity struck him now, far too late. Everyone _died,_ Connor could die tomorrow and leave Haytham lonesome. The odds were simply different. And they both knew Haytham was no father, bound only by blood...

This wasn’t jealousy, it was the realization that he had every right to choose who he wanted to spend time with, to sleep with, and how. Ziio was no longer here, he had to start moving forward, and if he wanted that to be with his son, than so be it!

He waited for the elevator to descend and reappear, Haytham pulling out the small figure and glaring at it. In the trash, that's were it belonged.

… Yet he passed two bins on the way to his car. And it remained, gripped tightly in his hand. He passed Connor on the way out, tempted to roll down the window. No, he passed by instead, a simple thought staying with him. 'Good bye son.'

~*~

He was there by the time he arrived, Haytham parking his car and slamming the door. Taking the elevator to the fifteenth floor, Haytham needed to knock only on William's office door only once, a pound of his fist before receiving an answer, blue eyes glaring at him, ready to talk.

He would have none of it.

The sound of William's head colliding with counter top was only partially gratifying. The instantaneous pain in his knuckles were more so, though Haytham drew the line at kicking him, but just barely.

A cough, and William was on his feet, wiping blood from his mouth on his sleeve. "… for interfering I presume?"

"You're a nosy, arrogant, ignorant pious bastard who effectively helped ruin my relationship with my son after months of tribulations, you dense fuck!"

Fists slammed against the table, and William straightened up, silently. "… my intention was to help, Haytham. That sort of relationship is unhealthy."

"Based on what? You're working knowledge of fatherhood?" 

A glare, and William's arms crossed over his chest. "This isn't rocket science, Haytham. There are reasons- other than legality- that make your relationship wrong."

"Yes, I'd agree! If I was the lad's father it would be _wrong._ " He trembled, from toes to fingers, William cautiously watching him. If he wasn't mistaken, he's eyes were glistening. A quick glance proved him unmistaken.

"… Haytham." Wearily, William stepped forward, hand extended and reaching to clutch his shoulder. "… It was comfort, just sexual in nature. I thought if you could find a more appropriate release... I left the choice to Pitcairn who left it to Hickey and for that I apologize. But if it was just sex..."

"It was just sex. A comfort when necessary with someone I could trust." A heated glare, and misted eyes neglected to loose their sheen. "And you had to annihilate my one mean of comfort." 

William eyed him still, swallowing thickly. "Then Caterina would have been fine-"

"How can you even compare the two!" Practically screaming, Haytham leered a mere inch from William's face. "Connor is nothing like her, their actions are completely different, the way they walk, their methods of communicating, their wants, likes... they're totally different people!" 

William flinched, gulping. "… but none of that would matter if it was just sex, Haytham." Brows furrowed, eyes staring straight into grey, and for a moment there was silence as the words seemed to register with Haytham.

Turning on heel, he left, but not before turning a final time, the sheen in his eyes so foreign that William had almost forgotten what he looked in a state of sadness. "You've effectively taken the _one_ thing that brought me happiness, however fleeting and infrequent." He turned, gripping the handle and stating before he slammed the door.

"… I though only Ziio's murderer could hurt me in such a way. Congratulations, you proved me wrong."

-=-=-=-

Bianca had welcomed him back, with both open arms and a surprised expression on her face. Explaining things to her didn't take long, and she reacted pretty much as he had expected; with anger, sadness and confusion.

She told him he could stay as long as he wanted; her apartment was just big enough to house two people if they were careful. He couldn't go back to his father's apartment, not without the key... nor did he want to. Perhaps it was to be expected that something like this would happen some day.

Despite the few times they had gotten along, their differences were still too great it seemed. Had they met ten years earlier things would have probably turned out fine, but it had simply been too long... there was no talking it out. It wouldn't work.

And for the first few days Connor was fine with that. It took some time getting used to; Bianca's way of living was so very different from Haytham, who liked to do everyone on time and on the spot. But they had fun. They made each other laugh. They enjoyed each others company and she helped him forget.

Except that he couldn't forget. Not fully.

He tried to keep it hidden from the outside world, tried to act like nothing was wrong in front of his friends, but it was hard. Granted, now that he was with Bianca he didn't spent nearly as much time with Shaun and Myriam as he used to, and they still noticed something was off. He avoided answering their questions, because he didn't know what to answer in the first place.

A week after he had been kicked out he had tried calling his father, but it had gone ignored. It wasn't really surprising and part of Connor was glad for it... what were they supposed to say to each other anyway? Sorry? Like that was going to cut it...

William had tried calling him as well... three times no less, but he had ignored those calls as well. William may have meant well with everything, but Connor couldn't help but feel that this was all his fault. If he hadn't walked in on them, hadn't forced them to go to that disastrous banquet...

That had been two weeks ago. He had tried calling his father a few times again, but still no luck. Was it really going to end like this then? They'd never talk again? Even if they couldn't fix their relationship, now that they had time to cool down, Connor desperately wanted to talk it over with him one last time... to say... to say goodbye on better terms...

But it was hard to do that if Haytham kept ignoring his calls.

“If you want to talk to him, take the bus and go to him.”

Connor grumbled something under his breath and poked his phone lying on the table, his head resting in the crook of his arm. “He doesn't want to talk to me, Bianca.”

“Perhaps, but it will be a lot more difficult to ignore you when you're face to face with him.” Setting down her soda can on the table she leaned forward and touched his shoulder. “Just go, if it's so important to you. He's still family, it's worth a shot no?”

“Maybe...” He sighed and picked up his phone again. Fine, he'd try one more time and if Haytham didn't pick up, _then_ he'd go. Bianca was right, dad couldn't ignore him face to face.

-=-=-=-

Empty. The laboratory was completely empty. Not a soul dare enter since he took up residence there two weeks prior, save for the first day. Those select few individuals had spent their last day at Kenway Corporations.

His phone had filled with texts, from William mostly. Apology after apology, concerned note after another. Apparently he had almost sent a search party when Haytham hadn't turned up at his apartment or office, only relaxing when he was found in the company gym, taking a shower in an empty stall.

Even then as William spoke to him, he said nothing. Even now, as William waited outside the door, he wouldn't open it.

His rage had since subsided, leaving only cold, uncaring comments and a demeanor far from even neutrality. No, Haytham was, in his own way, inconsolable. And in his solitude, he did something new, different.

He stopped working.

And the second majority of his messages were from Charles, of course. But no, Haytham had no will to work. His laboratory was his playground, complete with an emergency shower and a nifty air mattress he'd purchased. He made due with simple canned food and the like. He'd be damned before returning to his apartment, full of... of things to constantly remind him of what he could never have. A finger traced the wooden toy soldier for the umpteenth time. He couldn't throw it away. No matter how much it ached, it was the one reminder of what once was he wouldn't throw away.

He never was a dweller, but in his refusal to work, he had time to think. Time to shave and keep himself looking presentable, handsome, in shape. Hours of the last two weeks spent exercising until he almost dropped. Hours spent avoiding his very phone.

Which naturally choose that moment to ring.

He didn't look. He hadn't in a week nor would he now. Washing his face in the connected bathroom, Haytham took a long look at himself. Greying prematurely, dark circles under his eyes, but otherwise his mask was together, calm.

He didn't need Connor. He didn't need anyone. He simply preferred his presence. But it was too late for that now.

He'd enough of his phone, of everyone’s nagging. They wanted him to act a certain way to fulfill their own needs... well now was his time to do as he desired. And he desired silence, solitude. Something he couldn't get with that blasted phone.

While the mute button would have been effective, he found himself liking a little flare of drama, and opened the door, handing a surprised William the phone before slamming it again. There, silence. Solitude. Loneliness.

He'd be living the life others wanted him to. Perhaps loneliness was his true friend.

~*~

Before William could speak, Haytham was gone, leaving the buzzing phone in his hand, name flashing. William had to double take, picking up immediately and talking frantically. "Connor! It's William. Please don't hang up, I'm sorry."

Shoving himself into a vacant office, he slammed the door and exhaled with a long sigh. Maybe, just maybe the lad would hear him, what he had to say. "I'm sorry, honestly, I am so so sorry for intervening." He spoke so rapidly, so unlike himself he almost stumbled over his words. 

"Had I known what a massive positive impact your presence had on Haytham I would have walked away and said nothing." He swallowed hard, and he knew he should let Connor get a word in but he seemed unable, rambling in case he hung up.

"… I've known your father for a long time, and he's never done _this_ before." Truly, even after Ziio's death, while he remained barricaded in his office, he'd at least spoken. Granted it was to berate and fire staff and make a snide remark but it was _something._

"… He's been in the laboratory for two weeks, he won't leave, he won't open the door for anyone, and he won't speak." Swallowing hard, William opened the door of his office, glancing at the laboratory opposite. "… You don't owe me anything and I have no idea what he may have said, but I'm sure he said it because he can't cope with grief. I... did you both a horrible injustice by driving you apart, but please, if you can come down here and try to talk to him... maybe he'll listen to you."

-=-=-=-

As soon as he heard William's voice Connor contemplated on hanging up, but it was the frantic tone of his words that kept him from doing so. He didn't sound panicked, but it was close.

At least he sounded honest about being sorry, though it really was a little too late for that. A sorry wouldn't fix his broken relationship with his father. However, Connor had no idea that it was _this_ bad.

Haytham really hadn't spoken to anyone in two weeks? Hadn't shown his face? Connor sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose... figures that he would be the one to have to deal with this. Then again, that had kinda been his plan anyway, but he hadn't thought it would be this bad.

“I'm on my way.” he muttered and stopped the call before William could reply. “I guess I'm out then.” Standing up he made his way into the hallway to grab his jacket, Bianca following. 

“Good luck, Connor. Knock some sense into him if you have to.”

Heh... “Will do.” Giving her a quick kiss good bye Connor stepped out into the rain and ran down the steps, on his way to the nearest bus stop.

~*~

The warm air of the lobby greeted him as he stepped through the large double doors of Kenway Corporations. Shivering and wet, he waved at Dave, one of the security guards and passed the secretary on his way to the elevators. Most of the employees ignored him, though a few of them shot him smiles and stares, and while in the elevator he heard two of them quietly complain in the back, catching whispers of Haytham's name.

Huh, it was worse than he thought.

On the fifteenth floor Connor stepped out of the elevator and took a deep breath, taking a turn left down the hallway. Assuming that Haytham had locked himself in this laboratory, Connor passed a few unused offices on his way without paying real attention to it, until a voice drifted towards him through the half open door of one of the empty rooms.

“-screwed up! You promised me that he would get the job done properly!”

Connor frowned. Was that... Lee?

“Haytham has been slacking off since that woman of his met her end, and it has _not_ improved in time. And do you know why? Because your man fucked up!”

Now wait a minute! Gritting his teeth Connor's hands balled into fists as he walked towards the door, fully intending to give Lee a piece of his mind-

“No, I've told you before, Silas. It's that damn brat of his. He's the reason Haytham is still not putting in his 100% for the company. Even worse, he hasn't been doing anything at all these last two weeks. Haytham has locked himself up and won't answer his messages, he's completely useless right now and it's all because of that kid.”

Frown deepening Connor paused... what the hell was Lee talking about? Who was he talking to? Pressing his lips together he took a few steps forward as silently as he could, and leaned against the wall to listen.

“Haytham is vital to the company. I need him, not the way he is now but the way he used to be. That woman's death did not fix it and I do believe I've asked you to take care of both of them. How is it that that brat survived the car crash and the flames, Silas? Answer me that.” A dull bang, of someone slamming his fist on the talbe. “Haven't I paid you enough to get the job done properly? I needed them both to die and now Connor still lives and is still messing things up even now! I need him _gone,_ preferably today rather than tomorrow so you better figure this out-”

Heart thumping in his chest Connor stumbled away from the door as if he had been burned, eyes wide open in shock. No way! NO WAY! There was no way that Charles... that Lee... that he was responsible for... for... mom...!

He was running before he even realized it, legs carrying him through the hallway towards his father's office. It wasn't possible! All that time, Lee had been behind it all that time! Had lied to them, had acted like he cared, had offered condolences on his mother's funeral while he had _paid_ someone to kill her in the first place!

And not just her... he had been a target as well. That phone call he had just overheard made it clear... he had been supposed to die as well.

Lee wanted him dead... had wanted him dead all along.

Connor nearly tripped over his feet as he rounded a corner and spotted two figures further ahead: “William! Hickey!”

“Ah Connor, I'm so glad to see yo-... what happened? What happened?” William reached out of him as Connor skidded to halt and glanced over his shoulder, panic written all over his face.

“Wot's goin' on?” Hickey asked but William could only shrug as Connor attempted to catch his frantic breath. The kid looked like he had been chased after by the devil himself.

“Connor... deep breath. What happened?” Christ, there were tears in his brown eyes... he looked terrified.

“What is going on here?” 

William looked up to see Charles make his way towards them, eying Connor closely. Connor, for his part, tensed and tried to pull away from William's grip on his shoulder, but the terrified look he cast Charles went unnoticed by both him and Hickey. “I don't know, Charles. Could you go fetch him a glass of water?”

Narrowing his eyes at Connor Charles didn't react immediately, staring at him with a calculated look but eventually he nodded and quickly walked off. Connor jerked himself loose from William's grip and threw himself against the door leading to his father's lab, banging his fist against the wood. “DAD! OPEN THE DOOR!”

-=-=-=-

Silence, at long last. Brushing his teeth and a shower later, Haytham intended to perhaps sleep the rainy day away, nestled under his favorite blanket (a bear rug from one of his first hunts), staring blankly at the television until his mind turned into a moot goop. Like any average normal person who had a laboratory.

Frantic commotion from outside the door, and Haytham rolled his eyes, rolling off his bed and trodding to the door in casual attire, taking a peak through the small window.

The breath hitched in his throat. No. He was surely seeing things. He wouldn't come all the way down here for any reason, let alone to speak to-

"DAD! OPEN THE DOOR!"

It wasn't that he yelled, but rather how. Connor may be an emotional lad, but the crack in his voice was anything but a positive sign.

The pounding continued, conflicting thoughts crossing his mind in such fluidity it made him spin. Haytham grabbed the handle as the pleas became more desperate. Connor practically fell on top of him, and Haytham paused, observing his glistening brown eyes.

He was still distant, an icy demeanor about him, but his eyes betrayed him. "Lad, calm down." His voice was hoarse, unused in sometime, and he motioned for him to come inside, tempted to lock both William and Hickey out but William waltzed past him and sat by Connor's side. Hickey stood closer to Haytham, shrugging. "No idea wot this is about."

He chose to sit across from him, grabbing a bottle from the fridge as Connor grew even more frantic. Something about Lee... that was all he could make out of his son's hysterical talk.

Lee? Haytham sat on thew table, befuddled, opening his hand. "My phone, William." He ignored William's startle of surprise, sitting in front of Connor with a frown. What had he done to upset him like _this?_ Surely the lad was being overly sensitive. Again.

Charles answered on the third ring, Haytham's voice holding a hoarse quality still. "Charles."

 _"... Oh, now you feel like talking to me."_

He ignored the bite, intent on asking what happened. He switched the phone to speaker, making sure Charles and Connor could hear each other. Whatever had happened between them need be resolved, sooner rather than later.

But before another word could leave his lips, Charles spoke steadily, without a single falter. _"I'm not sorry, Haytham. You were on the top of your game until she came along and your emotions got involved."_

It didn't take a genius to figure out who Charles was referring to, Haytham's brows furrowing. Ziio, it pertained to Ziio? What in the world did Ziio have to do with any of this?

-=-=-=-

Connor looked up at that, his eyes locking on the phone in his father's hand. The tears still hadn't fallen yet but they were gathering steadily, and his expression changed from frantic panic to what could only be described as cold rage.

William could only blink in confusion at the shift in Connor's expression; just what had Charles said or done to cause this kind of a reaction in Connor? Neither of them had ever made it a secret that they disliked each other greatly, but this was... and what did Ziio have to do with this all?

“I heard you.” Connor hissed then, and while his voice was soft it was still clear enough to be heard, despite the slight tremble in his words. “Just now, in the empty laboratory. I overheard you talking on the phone.”

There was silence on the other line, broken only by the sound of an engine starting before Charles spoke again. _“Did you now?”_

Connor did not answer that and looked up, meeting Haytham's gaze and his expression scrunched up. “He did it, dad. He's responsible. He...” The firs tear finally fell as his voice broke, the tremor in his words loud and clear. “Mom... the accident... he c-caused it. I heard him admit it. He p-paid someone to have it done, was... c-complaining that it wasn't done 'properly' because I... because I survived.”

Hickey cursed loudly and William swallowed, eyes wide as he gently placed his hand on Connor's shoulder. “That's a big accusation, Connor. Are you su-”

“I know what I heard!” Swatting William's hand away he stood up, hands clenching into fists at his side as he glared at the phone again, listening to the sounds of traffic; wherever Charles was now, he was getting further and further away from them. Fleeing. Escaping. “Why, Lee? Why did she have to die? What has she _ever_ done to you? And what have I ever done to you that made you want to see me dead and buried as well?!” No answer and Connor nearly ripped the phone out of his father's hands as he started screaming. “Tell me, Lee! Tell me the truth! Tell me why-”

 _“I did it because it had to be done.”_ Charles cut in and Connor quieted down immediately, blinking as more tears fell. _“I don't regret doing it either. She was getting in the way of Haytham's success; she was ruining him, the same way you are ruining him now, boy. Drastic measures had to be taken, so I took responsibility. I did it because no one else would! Everything I did, everything I've ever done I did for Haytham and no one else! His success was everything! I have supported him for twenty years, kept him at the very top, kept him safe and provided him everything he needed! All that hard work, I refused to see it ruined by some Native bitch and her halfbreed offspring he never desired in the first place! My only regret, boy, is that the man I hired to do the deed wasn't capable enough to ensure you met your end as well!”_

The sound that Connor made at that, stuck between a horrified whimper and a choked sob tore right through William, but he himself was too shocked to do more than watch as Connor turned his back on them and walked a few steps away, fisting his hair with trembling hands, his whole frame shaking.

Charles... he couldn't believe it... they hadn't always seen eye to eye, but Charles had been a friend and a respected colleague for many, many years. He had never imagined him to be capable of such a horrible deed. Charles had never made it a secret that his greatest desire was to see Haytham at the top, but to go this far...

“Fuckin' hell!” Hickey frantically searched his pockets for his phone. “I'm fuckin' callin' the cops! He can't 'ave gotten far!”

They could still hear the sounds of traffic over the speaker, and Charles' voice cut through it once more, trembling, but determined. _“I did it for you, Haytham. Hate me if you want, but you will understand one day. One day, you will see that I was right.”_

-=-=-=-

Nothing but an odd static ring. Loud and almost suffocating, buzzing about his ear drums as the pieces fell together. And for all the sense it made, it didn't alter the destruction it brought.

His own right hand man. His best business partner. His _friend._ He'd called him a friend. Twenty years they'd worked side by side, from the opening of the first basic pharmaceutical store to a larger start at the Corporations. By his side in all of this, through scandals and propaganda, to the supposed loss of Ziio. For Haytham's sake, he lead him to believe he squashed their squabble and would aid in his needs.

Again, he was manipulated to fulfill the needs of another, but at the loss of everything sacred. Ziio, their unborn child, Connor... his targets had been them all.

Steady hands placed the phone on the table, and he offered no apology as he pushed William away, standing behind Connor. Every foolish disagreement between them, every moment shared in the past few months...

His chin pressed to the crown of Connor's head, a single, strong arm coming to rest across broad shoulders as Connor sobbed. Neutrality, his face remained a perfect portrayal of such, Connor crying for them both. He grieved his own way, and all his grief had just suffered a metamorphosis.

"… That month I claimed to take care of family business in Queen Anne's Square? Remember, all those years ago, Charles?" He licked his lips, arm tightening around Connor's shoulders. "I lied. I returned to America, to raise my child the way it should have been."

A surprised look from Hickey and William, and Charles voice told of his surprise. _"Haytham-"_

"No, you don't get to interrupt me."

The growl in his voice may have contributed to Charles' silence. He'd never be certain. There was one thing he could be certain of...

"You and everyone else has attempted to manipulate or control me in some way. My life has been vicariously lived through by person after person. Decisions have been made through information that was falsified and through threats of harm." He ignored William's flinch, the burn in his eyes directed at only object.

"Ziio was pregnant when you _murdered_ her, Charles." Hickey almost dropped his phone, William's own eyes widening at the news. "You tried to murder my first child in an attempt to better... what? My company? To garner my attention? Well you _have_ my attention now Charles, all of it."

His free hand tightened on Connor's shoulder, perhaps more so than he meant to. "I will devote every waking minute of my life to seeing you _pay._ There is no place you can hide, no stone that will be unturned; I will hunt you down and eviscerate you for what you've done to me and my family."

Silence, and Haytham waited, aware of how Charles yearned for the last word always. He didn't disappoint.

 _"Well then, good luck finding me."_ Horns honked and traffic blurred as Charles whispered into the phone. _"Remember, Haytham, you failed to protect your family once. I wonder how you'll fair this time."_

A dead line, the phone clicked off and Haytham made no move to redial, Hickey hanging up his own phone. "They're on their way, lemme get Church n' Pitcairn." 

A nod and he left, William's eyes wide as he stared between Haytham and Connor. He made no move to touch him again, exhaling and backing away, muttering. "I-I'll direct them up here." They needed time together... that was clear. William left, although he couldn't help it, throwing the words around with utmost sincerity. "I'm so sorry for all of this, Haytham." A nod was his sole response, Haytham otherwise unmoving, waiting until the door shut before dropping his head, burying his face into Connor's hair and tightening his hold with both arms. To think he never wanted to see him again... now, he couldn't seem to let him go.

No words, he had none. He simply held Connor in silence, rocking to and fro when he sobbed. He should have _known._ It was the only thought Haytham could muster, and it was senseless and yet... he should have _known._

-=-=-=-

Connor did not move away from the arm wrapping around him, despite knowing who it was. This, what Lee had done... this was bigger than their petty arguments over girlfriends and sex. That all seemed unimportant now.

By the time the call ended Connor had gone quiet, though tears still fell silently as his breathing hitched with every breath he took. It was all coming back now. Eight months of carefully putting it all away, giving it all a place... ruined now.

He could so clearly see it in his mind's eye, as if he had gone back in time and was actually watching it happen all over again; Ziio's casket, slowly being lowered into the freshly dug grave never to be seen again; the sobs of people crying, friends and family offering condolences and sympathies; the sterile smell of the hospital and the awful bright white of the walls; his father collapsing at the foot of his hospital bed after hearing the news of Ziio's pregnant state; and worst of all, the bright glow and heat of the flames, the heavy weight of the broken tree branch keeping them pinned, the smell of burning rubber and human flesh... her pleas for him to leave her behind, to save himself, followed by her screams as the flames reached her...

Connor gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the bile rise up in his throat. He swallowed, desperately, again and again, forcing the bitter taste down as he tightly gripped onto the arm around his shoulders, pressing back against the comfortable warmth that was his father behind him.

Charles Lee... he had to be insane. Had to have always been insane, to be capable of something like this. A monster... Charles Lee was a _monster!_

Connor had no idea how long they stood there, holding onto each other, both needing physical proof that the other was still there, still present, still alive. A soft knock sounded on the door, followed by an equally soft: “Haytham? They're here, we're coming in.”

Connor removed himself from his father's embrace and turned his back on the door, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve to make himself somewhat presentable again. William walked in, followed by a man and a woman, both in police uniform, and Hickey, Church and Pitcairn, who closed the door behind him.

No doubt they had questions, questions he'd need to answer, questions about everything he had heard Lee say over the phone. Connor was ready... Lee had escaped, but there would be an investigation. They would find him, and they would make him pay.

They had to. They wouldn't accept another outcome.

-=-=-=-

He let go with great reluctance, ridding his throat of it's tightness with a soft cough. Questioning, right. His hand fell to Connor's shoulder, the first officer taking a seat as he began; the simple details, the why he was there, how he overheard the conversation... how quickly those questions were answered, while the others lingered in the air to fester in what was an expansion of time. The fact remained the crime had occurred in Conneticut; Sergeant Betterly would need to be informed of these details. Due to Charles' residence in New York City, his custody would become a matter of dual cooperation of both. Either way, he wouldn't receive the death penalty, no matter how heinous the act. Part of Haytham was immensely glad for that; let him think and rot, until the end of his days. May their once eternal, lingering friendship cause him nothing but grief until his years dwindled. 

Simultaneously, the animal in him wanted to watch the life fade from his eyes, if only so he could tell Ziio in some way that justice had been served.

Either way, Charles Lee would pay.

After their departure, and the departure of his colleagues, Haytham was left, for the moment, with Connor. And never had he been more torn.

He wanted him to stay, but he was doubtlessly only here to say good bye. Should this knowledge- of Ziio's death- alter the decision? Haytham never truly wished for his disappearance, he'd only lashed out in a moment of self defeating rage... he knew that.

Yet an apology seemed impossible, not when he wasn't truly sorry to begin with. That and with such news... Haytham blindly lead Connor to the lounge, locking the door behind them both. Seconds ticked by, Haytham blindly making coffee, five sugars and extra creamer and placed a mug on the counter for Connor. "… You'll catch your death." But a whisper, his fingers plucking the damp, thick hoodie he wore. It had rained so hard the jacket hadn't even provided protection.

Seconds ticked by again, and he sighed, running a hand through hair that grew greyer with each passing day as of late. Or so it seemed that way. The questions he wanted to ask seemed foolish now, but he attempted anyway, if only to keep Connor around for longer.

"I'll take care of Betterly and start an investigation." A pause, and grey eyes fought to look into brown. This was so very difficult. "… Don't be a stranger." Even if for the sake of the case, and he noted his own desperation, bringing the steaming mug to his lips before attempting to converse again. "I'd ought to know how you are from time to time. For sanity's sake, you wander off so often one can never be sure if you're alright."

Was he alright? Was he eating properly? Not mountain dew and pizza but actual food? Was he getting enough sleep? How was he paying rent? He'd love to chalk the questions up to fatherhood but he knew better. He was damned interested, and not solely because Connor was his son.

And knowing what they both knew now, the need to protect was stronger. And most startling, this too wasn't solely because of their relation.

-=-=-=-

He muttered a soft thank-you as Haytham placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, but Connor made no move to touch it. He vaguely realized that yes, he was cold, shivering in the wet fabric of his hoodie and jacket but that too didn't seem important now.

There were still so many questions. Who had Lee been talking to on the phone? Who had he hired? He had been talking to a guy named Silas... who was Silas?

The silence was thick and awkward between them. He had come here to talk to his father, to say goodbye on proper terms but as things stood now, he didn't even know where to begin.

'Don't be a stranger,' he said. Connor huffed softly, still staring at his coffee. Deep down he longed to hear the words 'come home' but perhaps that was wishing for too much. Just because Lee has proved himself to be much worse than just a bastard, didn't make things right between him and Haytham.

It didn't fix things. It didn't make him want to jump into his father's arms and tell him that he was sorry for all the things he had said, to beg forgiveness and to ask him if he could please come home.

Life didn't work like that... life wasn't a fucking fairy tale.

Don't be a stranger... ugh, he had tried not to be! He had tried calling him, but it was difficult not to be a stranger if Haytham kept refusing to even answer his calls! And he had been the one to tell him to pack his things and leave in the first place! How could he /not/ be a stranger if his father didn't give him the chance to be something else?

Taking a deep breath Connor rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. Perhaps they could talk later... right now he wasn't feeling up to it. “I'm staying at Bianca's place.” Like Haytham couldn't have guessed that, he thought as he pushed his chair back and stood up. “I should go... let me know if... when you have news. If not, I'll call you in a few days.” And please pick up when he did. He glanced at Haytham, but he couldn't make himself to meet his eyes. Instead he glanced at the bulge in his chest pocket... he still had the wooden statue. Well, at least he hadn't thrown that away.

Sniffing Connor turned towards the door to leave. “Thanks for the coffee, dad...” Even though he hadn't touched it.

-=-=-=-

That was it. Well, couldn't say he wasn't surprised. He had ignored the lad for two weeks, kicked him out of their apartment, insulted the woman he was living with. Yes, Haytham's own side of the story suggested error from Connor's behalf. One look at the boy though and it was all too clear, Haytham was labeled as the guilty party.

Nothing he could say would alter his perception. And maybe that was for the best for the lad after all.

Haytham looked at his life far differently; so he had built an empire from the ground into an international powerhouse worthy of worldwide recognition. The costs had been far too great. In the end he'd lost everything once held dear, to none other than a man he'd known to be a friend. Being important to him meant meeting ones end in violent, horrid way. The pictures of Ziio's burnt remains and his father taking his last breaths before his very eyes were reminder enough. He'd catch Lee, he would. He would personally see the man suffer every day without hope of escape.

He'd simply do so without Connor.

The more distance kept, perhaps the safer he'd be. The final piece of any family he had threatened to walk away for good. And Haytham allowed him to, opening the door for him and closing it on his way out, silence thick about him.

Connor was safest this way. Lee wouldn't come for him now, not with him at a distance. Haytham exhaled slowly, before knocking away Connor's full mug, the shatter of ceramic and specs of coffee hitting floor. Someone else would clean it. He had an organization to run, and a criminal to catch. There was work to be done.

-=-=-=-

It had taken Connor quite some time to return to Bianca. He had wandered for a while, through Central Park, in the rain in the dead of night, to clear his head and to figure out how he was going to explain this to her. No doubt this would be all over the news come morning, but he didn't want her to find out that way. She deserved to hear it from him personally, as did Shaun and Myriam. 

Days passed, without news. Connor spent most of his time cooped up inside when he wasn't in school, keeping a close eye on his phone, the computer, the TV and the newspapers. It was big news, as expected; Lee was the first subject in the case, the first real lead they had.

Haytham had called him a few days later to inform him of how things stood with the investigation, and even over the phone there was no denying the distance he kept in his voice. Yes, the investigation was still running strongly but no, Lee hadn't been found yet and yes, he had most likely fled the States and had gone into hiding somewhere overseas, and no, there was no trace of him anywhere. Cold hard facts, that was all Haytham offered, but Connor supposed he couldn't blame him. Their communication was most likely going to be like this from now on; short, to the point, just the important bits, only say what needed to be said and end it with a simple 'take care' and a 'good bye' before hanging up.

… it was getting on his nerves.

Wherever Lee was, he was doing a damned good job at staying hidden and it was pissing him off. He barely slept and didn't talk much, and when he did he was short and to the point, just like his father did.

Even with Bianca.

He knew she didn't deserve his attitude, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Finding Lee and seeing justice done was everything right now. Nothing else mattered. She had tried to console him, had tried to make him feel better in every way she knew, but he refused most of the comfort offered.

And she was getting fed up with it.

“You've been sulking for over a week, Connor! It's not helping anyone and it certainly isn't helping you!”

He remained silent, kept his eyes on the television screen and listened to the news reporter telling his story. Not that the cover story was even about Lee right now, but perhaps the next one would be. Or the one after that. Who knew? He could hope.

“Connor, are you even listening to me?”

Perhaps Haytham hadn't told him everything. Or... or maybe he hadn't given him new updates... he hadn't called in a while. Perhaps there had been a break through in the case and he didn't yet know about it! He could call his father and ask, but no... no... best to wait, see if perhaps, maybe, there would be something about it on TV soon.

“Connor!” Bianca stepped in front of the TV, hands on her hips, and glared down at him as he blinked and leaned sideways.

“Move aside, you're in the way.”

“No. You listen to me now.” Reaching behind her she pressed the on/off switch and the television screen went blank. The effect was immediate.

“Bianca, what the fuck!” He jumped up, but she kept her ground, meeting his angry gaze and staring him down.

“No Connor, I'm sick of this! I know that this is a difficult time for you, but you've been like this for eleven days! You're always angry, you won't talk to me, you won't sleep with me, you just sit here on your ass all day, hugging your phone while nearly melting with the TV-”

Grumbling Connor broke his gaze and shoved his fists in his pockets.

“-you won't even look at me! How is this helping anyone?”

“I want him found, Bianca-”

“Of course you do, I want him found too but glaring at the TV isn't going to make that happen any faster.”

“You don't understand-”

“I understand well enough. I...” Her hands dropped and Connor expression softened a little when he saw tears gather in her eyes. “I can't do this anymore, Connor. I've tried to help but you won't accept any of it and I'm sick of being snapped at for something that's not even my fault.”

He looked away again, only because she was right. He had been horribly snappish and impatient with her... but dammit, it wasn't all his fault! She kept pushing herself onto him thinking that it would help, kept grating on his nerves! Was it any wonder that he snapped? “You weren't helping...” he muttered.

“I tried!”

“It wasn't working...”

Her heard her take a deep breath, saw her clench her fist out of his peripheral; he already knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth; “I... I think... this isn't working anymore, Connor. I think... we need a break. Stop seeing each other for a while, until things cool down...”

“Fine.” He turned and walked towards the hallway, Bianca following on his heels with a confused expression on her face. He had agreed so easily. 

“I'm... sorry, Connor. I really am.”

“Yeah, me too.” he muttered and shrugged on his jacket. “I'll pick my things up later.” He opened the front door and paused, turning to glance over his shoulder but the words he wanted to say, the apology, died in his throat before he could speak it, and he stepped out into the cool night air.

He didn't look back, feeling Bianca's eyes on him as he walked away from her. It was for the best, he kept telling herself. He couldn't give her the attention she deserved, not with Lee and everything that had happened occupying all his time and thoughts. It really was for the better, even if it hurt... and hurt it did.

There was a problem though, one he hadn't thought about. Haytham's apartment was still off limits to him, and he didn't feel like going to Myriam or Shaun because he didn't want to deal with their worries and questioning, no matter how well they meant it. That left him only one option...

~*~

He was lucky the security guard let him inside without a fuss even at this hour, close to midnight. After asking the man confirmed that even though most employees had gone home, his father was still in his laboratory somewhere.  
The building was oddly silent, devoid of so many people as Connor walked towards the elevators and took one up to the fifteenth floor. He had no idea what he was supposed to say to Haytham, but it was either this, or dealing with Myriam and Shaun (or sleeping out in the open but clearly that wasn't an option either). If he had to choose... he'd rather have his father's distant attitude over the frantic worries of his friends. At least with Haytham ignoring him for the most part allowed him to think.

He stared at the closed doors leading into his father's lab with a heavy feeling in his gut. How would he react? Would he be happy to see him? Or angry?

Or indifferent?

Only one way to find out... he took a deep breath and raised his hand, knocking three times.

-=-=-=-

And a state of normalcy that had evaded Haytham had finally returned to him. Typing, laboratory work, reports, case leads, a very brief lunch consisting of something barely edible as he read up on the case, more laboratory work and reports, meetings, dinners forced to be had by William who was so apologetic about everything that it was borderline sickening, followed by a few hours of exercise while listening to notes he'd taken orally followed by four hours of sleep.

It was hell on his body, but he was catching up rapidly, the company hiring after the massive lay offs and business projecting positive signs. At this rate he could open a small facility in Philadelphia and see how it fared.

Happiness was not part of this knew agenda, but such was life. Haytham blatantly ignored the announcements for the New Years, which was either that evening or the next. He'd spent Christmas in his laboratory tinkering with the pH reader, and that was fine. He let himself call Connor briefly that day as a reward for his ability to stay on track.

It was hardly easy. Haytham ran a finger over the figurine again, placing it next to the picture he took from his office, of Ziio and himself. He traced that too, lips twitching. He'd find Lee. He would. Still he offered not one apology, but two to her happy face.

"You were right about him. I should have listened." His lips twitched, frown etching across his face. This was equally as hard to say. "I should have been a better father to him." He chuckled, briefly, taking the figurine back into his hand. "So often do I act for the goodness of others without explanation, that I forget perhaps, the greater good isn't what will satisfy my own happiness." Case and point, avoiding Connor.

He'd thought it to be easy, with their disagreement. But every time he called it proved more difficult than the time prior. It was more than being accustomed to his presence. No, he'd developed an odd but strong bond with the lad, a tumultuous yo-yo relationship indeed. And yet he craved it, even now. Of course, it went against the greater cause. Connor was safe if kept at a distance. He repeated it to himself once more, as if to solidify the fact. It was for his own good. No matter if Haytham wanted the exact opposite.

A knock on his lab door, once, twice, three times...

Haytham stilled, cautious to rise, very aware of who was on the other side. But why now? He wasn't disappointed as he fully opened the door. He was, however, agitated.

Before he could help himself his fingers were pulling Connor inside by his bicep, forcing him to sit. "It's freezing you dolt!" Honestly... Haytham grabbed his blanket, the had of the bear hitting Connor's own head as he draped it over him. A barely there jacket and was it his imagination or was that incompetent woman unable to feed him? Imbeciles, everyone. He may be trying to keep Connor away but he wasn't meant to become emaciated from it!

"What are you doing wandering about in the snow, besides presumably trying to catch your death?" The coffee maker was already on, Haytham pouring Connor what was left and applying the proper amount of sugar and creamer so the lad would drink it. And he would drink it this time.

It took him a moment to realize Connor hadn't even moved. Frowning, Haytham looked at him, dark circles and thinner face looking back.

… He looked the way Haytham internally felt. Silly lad, always wearing his emotions on his sleeve.

Whatever was wrong, he sure it had nothing to do with his absence anyway. "… I'm sure Bianca will worry. Perhaps you should give her a call." He spoke softly, pushing the cup closer to him. Give her a call and tell her to fucking feed you, and to remind you to wear a coat and bring an umbrella. Daft lad. Curse his inability to lack affection for him even now.

-=-=-=-

Connor just had enough time to note the agitated look on his father's face before he was promptly dragged inside by his arm, forced to stumble after him until he was pushed down into a chair and something heavy was thrown over him. It took him a moment to realize that it was a bear rug and he blinked, reaching up to lift the nose that was hanging in front of his face.

“I uh...” Well he hadn't exactly been kicked out but now that he was here, it was kinda hard to explain. You know, without making it sound pathetic.

Pulling the bear rug closer around his shoulders he shivered; yeah, so, he clearly needed a new jacket that was better suited at keeping the cold at bay. He hadn't had time!

He looked away as Bianca was brought up, and sank deeper into the chair. He accepted the coffee with a soft mutter and held the mug in both hands to warm them. “We... um... we kinda... we agreed to...” Oh fuck this. Haytham would be pleased with the news anyway! Tightening his grip on his mug Connor gritted his teeth and shrugged. “We broke up.” There. He said it. It was out into the open now.

“We decided it was best to stop seeing each other for a while until things calm down, because...” because he'd been a dick to her, but he wasn't going to admit that. “... because things weren't working out like this. And I didn't want to deal with the nagging from Shaun and Myriam, so... I came here.” He sighed and brought the mug to his lips, carefully sipping from the hot liquid. He tried make his answer sound like he wasn't accusing his father of anything, but it was hard do to.

“... I didn't have anywhere else to go.” He snorted and sipped his coffee again, glaring at the table as he did so. It still sounded pathetic.

-=-=-=-

Ah. Like he thought, nothing to do with him. And still he couldn't stop his lips from twitching, attempting to hide his smile as he turned and made tea for a change. And another cup if Connor wanted, he was there anyway.

"I'd say sorry, but I'm not." He did however turn and ruffled Connor's damp hair, growing serious for the moment as he stared back into a glare. "I am sorry you choose my office as an absolute last resort, but I suppose I deserve that." He'd take it for what it was, Connor didn't understand. Perhaps that too was better. Although... and Haytham turned again with a frown. Where the hell was he supposed to live now? Obviously reason would dictate the lad returning to stay with him permanently but he'd been keeping Connor away for safety's sake, and his little break up just completely obliterated that notion.

This was not good. Haytham wouldn't see Connor on the street but his home was not an option. It left one other option, and Haytham sighed, turning his attention to kettle.

"Never you worry lad. Select the apartment of your liking and I'll provide the rest." He spoke more to himself than Connor, murmuring with a soft sentimentality, despite knowing it was necessity to keep him at bay. "I couldn't have you feeling obligated to see me."

-=-=-=-

A blink.

… what?

Lowering his coffee Connor frowned at his father's back, repeating the words in his mind. Really?

_Really?_

“You're that eager to be rid of me, huh?” Granted, he was old enough to live on his own... he'd turn 22 in a few months, but... there was always a but.

He didn't _want_ to live on his own. He had always had someone around him, sharing the same house with him, all his life........ his mother, his father, Bianca... but two of them were no longer an option, and the one person who was didn't even want him around anymore.

He didn't want to _be_ alone! He needed someone around him, someone to talk to, someone to watch dumb movies with, someone to have fun with, someone he could share things with... someone he could trust. There weren't a lot of those to begin with...

“I know I'm not obligated but I still came.” he muttered and set his coffee back on the table. “If you want me to leave, just tell me and I'll leave.” He crossed his arms over his chest, shoulders hunched and his lower lip slightly jutting forward as he glared at Haytham from underneath the bear head. “What if I don't want my own apartment?” 

-=-=-=-

He rolled his eyes, very adamant on telling Connor to grow up. Adults did things they often didn't wish to, and being opposed to the idea didn't make it a bad one.

Until grey eyes fell on what was a _pouting_ face. And not just any pout, but a lip out, arms over chest, narrowed eyes, heads under the grimace of a bear put.

He was torn between slapping him upside the head and ruffling his hair affectionately. He choose another path entirely, keeping his distance.

"Your face will freeze that way, effectively ruining any handsomeness you have." It didn't stop him from pouting, and Haytham averted his eyes, shaking his head. What nonsense, was a cute face supposed to deter his decisions? Honestly Connor...

"To be frank lad, I am not entirely comfortable living alone either. However," and he poured his own tea, taking a moment to refill Connor's coffee. "… we do what we must."

-=-=-=-

Do what we must?!

If he wasn't comfortable living alone either, then why was he making it so difficult for them both? Did this have to do with Lee?

He ignored the fresh brew of coffee, preferring to keep up his angry – and somewhat hurt – glare. All he wanted was to go home, and his father was making it difficult. More difficult than it should be... clearly he wasn't getting this done the easy way...

“Do you want me to say I'm sorry?” he hissed, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice. “Is that what you want? An apology, even though you owe me an apology as well?” Connor stood up then, allowed the bear rug to slide off his shoulders to crumple in a furry heap on the floor, and walked around the desk.

“I just... want things to go back the way they were, dad. They way before you got all jealous, before our fights over stupid reasons, before William caught us in the act and fucked everything up. I don't want... _this!_ ” He wildly gestured between them both. He didn't want to cold distance between them, the arguments, barely talking to each other. Those few weeks away from his father had made him realize that he had grown to care for his father a lot more than he thought possible... but it wasn't until now, with Bianca out of his life as well, and Haytham still pushing him away, that it really sank through how much his father meant to him.

And he would admit it if that was what it took. “I don't want an apartment of my own, dad...” He took another step closer and tried to meet his grey eyes. “I want to go home... really home, with you. If... if you will still allow me too. I know I've been a dick, but so have you. We were both wrong and I don't want to keep going like this anymore.” He sighed, and averted his eyes for a moment, swallowing the thick in his throat. “Please, dad...”

-=-=-=-

"The fact remains, Connor, that I..." and again he was having such difficulty speaking. What he wanted to say, and what he wanted to do were again at complete odds, and he found himself looking away, grinding his teeth. Seconds passed before he cleared his throat, attempting a distant look that couldn't meet his eyes. "You're ruining me, lad."

He continued to explain, rapidly. "My resolve has weakened significantly. I could almost care less about this company. Days have passed and your well being is still in my thoughts. My cruelty and attempts to keep away are done with a purpose, I would not see you harmed like your mother for my own inabilities to see what lies beneath the ones I trust. You were to stay away from me, and that night- I thought you could, in all honesty, do _better._ "

There was a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, and Haytham fought it down, standing and beginning to pace. "You are young, I presumed someone younger would match your tastes. You'd move on, move away, forget about my existence until I faded into obscurity and I was willing to except it until I was forced to watch it happen from across the table. And not with someone deserving of your affections, but with someone..." He cut himself off, biting the tip of his finger before his hand waved again. "I suppose it's none of my business but a suitable replacement would have been more intelligent, classier, someone who would exult you not... give you hand job under a fucking table."

He was breathless, ranting, so angrily he didn't seem to even notice Connor anymore. "I couldn't bear to watch it. And in the weeks to follow it just sickened me to think about so..." _So I didn't answer your phone calls or give you the time of day._ Haytham grit his teeth, pausing. It all sounded rather... like he had an infatuation, rather than a fondness.

And that made him stop. Infatuated? He directed his gaze on Connor, pulse rapidly thrumming in his neck. Was that was this was? Was he truly jealous?

"A-after finding out what Lee has done I thought it best you continue to keep your distance." Swallowing thickly, he shoved his thoughts aside, approaching Connor slowly. "Evidently my supposed friends are capable of such atrociously horrible deeds... how could I subject you to what I wanted when what we needed was clearly separation?" It was like a barrier between them then, a small one. He was close enough to count the scant freckles on cheeks, to feel a puff of warm breath with every exhale.

His resolve, his ability to fight was being reduced to a nothingness before his very eyes. And he found himself swept away.

"You should leave." An yet he stepped closer still, hand pressing the side of his cheek and guiding his face forward until his next sentence was a murmur between them. "But I can't allow you too."

He didn't fight it. He kissed him hard, harder than he thought possible, every bit of emotion from the last month poured into the single moment, lips, teeth, and tongue all working at the lips beneath his own until he could no longer breath. His resolve was weakened, his ideas shredded in the mist of evening, left to drift away.

For the moment, he didn't care.

-=-=-=-

Connor's expression scrunched up as he was yanked into the kiss, but he made no move to pull away or object against the rough act. Haytham was rough, he'd always be rough... it was simply who he was and Connor knew that this was simply his way to show affection.

He understood now. His father had been jealous, so very jealous that Bianca had what he couldn't have (and it filled him with a strange sense of pride that he had that kind of an effect on someone). Haytham hadn't hated him, hadn't wanted to push him away... he had simply been left without another choice.

But that was all over now, as Connor opened his mouth to accept the invading tongue plunging between his lips, hands around him, holding him in place and he tightly fisted his fingers in the material of his father's shirt.

Invading, plunging, dominating, claimed... Connor allowed it, returned it to the best of his abilities, until his lungs started screaming for hair. He was panting heavily by the time the kiss broke, one thin string of saliva the only thing connecting them until it broke as he licked his swollen lips and stared up at his father with hazy eyes.

Relieved... that was the big emotion he had felt right. He could stay. He wouldn't be kicked out again. Lee was still a huge problem but this eased some of the worries that had been plaguing him for days, had kept him awake for so long, unable to get a decent night of sleep; leaning forward Connor pressed his forehead against Haytham's shoulder and took a deep breath, breathing in the aftershave his father always wore. It was comforting.

He knew he had interrupted Haytham during his work (despite it being nearly 1AM now) but he didn't mind staying here if he did. The apartment could wait, until they could go back together. He shifted slightly, muffling a yawn against the soft fabric of Haytham's turtleneck. “Can I bunk on your couch maybe?” Maybe now he could get in some decent hours of rest.

-=-=-=-

He'd never been big on embraces, though he hardly minded, Connor's smaller frame pressed against him. "Tired, lad?" A yawn was his response, and Haytham exhaled slowly, fingering dark hair for a moment before clearing his throat. "Yes an no."

He ignored the frown, letting damp hair slip through his fingers. "There's showers in the gym, fourth floor. Take a hot one, I'll leave you an outfit of mine." He would catch something, soaked to the bone as he was. "My office door will be open, come inside, eat whatever I felt like making you, and then yes, you can sleep on the couch. Those are my horrid conditions, try your best to abide by them." And he couldn't help a small, almost playful swat on the ass, attempting to hide the corners of his mouth twitching upward in vain.

"I may join you in slumber sooner rather than later." Picking up the bear rug, Haytham left the laboratory as it was, grabbing extra clothing from his office, a dress shirt and a normal pair of black slacks. They'd be large on the lad, but it was more than fine for the time being.

He hadn't made anything fancy, just soup and a sandwich, which he demanded Connor eat before settling down for bed glancing over the glow of his laptop to check on his progress from time to time. The lights weren't off yet before the lad drifted to sleep, Haytham watching over him with a possessive gleam. Nothing would happen to his son. Not while he was around.

-=-=-=-

Hehe... fine, he could abide to those conditions. They weren't that bad, and a hot bath before bed didn't sound horrid at all. He jumped a little at the playful swat, but it was pretty harmless either way.

The showers on the fourth floor was naturally devoid of life at this time of night. It felt a little odd showering here, he had never done it here before, but on the plus side he could take as long as he wanted without having anyone complain about him using all the hot water.

As he stepped out thirty minutes later, dark hair clinging wetly to his face he found a small bundle of clothes waiting for him, as well as a large fluffy towel. The clothes were a little loose around him, but they were soft, clean and comfortable (and smelled like _him_ when he breathed in deeply). He took his old wet clothes with him back to the office, stuffing them in a plastic bag to wash later before taking a seat at the desk.

Haytham had kept it simple; a sandwich and a bowl of hot soup, probably heated up from a can but still very tasty. Connor hadn't realized how hungry he was; it wasn't like Bianca had tried to starve him. Quite the opposite, but he simply hadn't eaten a lot while there. Too worried, too caught up in his own thoughts and emotions to eat more than a few bites during each meal.

He nearly wolfed down the food Haytham had prepared for him before making his way to the couch and settling down on it, using a blanket with the bear rug on top of it to keep himself warm. Haytham sat in a chair next to it, laptop in his lap and for a few minutes Connor watched him work until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and drifted off...

~*~

The next day was a bright, sunny winter day, cold but nothing too horrid. It put him in a good mood; William hummed softly to himself as he locked the door to his car, suitcase tucked away under his arm. Good mood indeed! Haytham and he were finally talking again; everything that had needed to be said had been said, talked over and discussed. It had helped a lot and he felt like he understood his friend a lot better now.

The idea that Haytham had been sexually intimate with his son still bothered him a little bit, but that was only natural. He got it now, why they had done it. He understood the reasoning behind it and could accept it now. For them, it had been a way to cope, to deal with the great losses they had suffered. Ziio had been the only thing linking them together and after her death they had been forced to depend on one another. It didn't help that Connor resembled his mother so, and that Haytham was so bad at coping with the loss.

No... perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised that it had led to... well... an incestuous relationship. Haytham had always been a man who did things his own way and Connor seemed to have inherited that part of him. And it was true that they weren't hurting anyone with it. As long as it remained consensual from both sides and they kept it to the privacy of their home, William could accept it. That, and they both deserved to be happy... if this intimacy provided that happiness, then who was he to try to break it up?

Ah... but it wasn't like it would ever happen again, would it? Not now Connor and Haytham weren't even talking anymore. It was sad, very sad, such a shame... there was little to be done about it though. The only thing he could do was support his friend through this very difficult time to the best of his abilities and be there for him.

Raising his fist William softly knocked on the door leading into Haytham's office and opened it, stepping inside, ready for another long day of work. “Good morning Hayt-” His blue eyes widened as he took in the sight; Haytham had moved to the couch, his laptop resting on the arm rest, and carried a tired but pleased smile on his face. He hadn't seen him smile like that, look content like that in a long time and as William took a double glance he saw the source of his friend's sudden happiness.

There was another figure on the couch, sprawled out over it and hidden under a blanket and a bear rug, but even at this distance William saw the black hair and the feathers. Connor's head rested in his father's lap, expression peaceful as he snored softly. One arm dangled, fingers grazing the floor as his other hand rested on Haytham's knee, fingers occasionally twitching as he dreamed.

What was Connor doing here? Not that he wasn’t glad to see him, but... had something happened? He closed the door with a soft click and tiptoed his way over to the couch as silently as he could, not wishing to wake the boy up, and set his suitcase down. “What happened?” he asked in a whisper. It couldn't have been something bad right? Haytham wouldn't be smiling if it was bad.

-=-=-=-

Occasionally he brushed a few strands of hair from his lap, simply because he could. He'd always something for long, dark hair. Especially hair so soft.

His grin only widened, toying with a strand absentmindedly as he typed. A small ache in his back had begun, but he ignored it, content on staying put if but to listen to the soft snores leave his son's mouth. He became aware of the door clicking open, William's shocked face having no affect on his mood, and he couldn't help but open up a word document and typed, smiley and all:

Bianca dumped him. More for me. >) I win.

… Ah. Well then. William shook his head, placing his brief case down and grabbing a few papers, leaning over to type in the word document. 'Um, congratulations?' He hesitated, before typing back again, 'You didn't have a hand in it, did you?'

That got him a frown, Haytham clacking away. 'No. He's been depressed. He wasn't eating nor sleeping properly.' He paused, a grin stretching over his face. 'I'm better in bed anyway.'

And William had to bite the inside of his cheek, watching Haytham's expectant face. 'Nice to see you're not totes jelly ne more.'

"I was never jealous to begin with, you prick."

"I was there, Haytham, yes you were."

"No, I was angry." It was whispered, Haytham's fingers gliding back through dark hair, self soothing. "There's a difference. Everything took it's toll suddenly and that was that."

"Ah." He said nothing further, watching Connor shift for the moment before straightening out. Well, however Haytham justified it, he supposed at least they were getting along again.

"I'll wait for you in the laboratory, don't forget about the meeting at twelve." Haytham nodded, smile slowly creeping back on his face as a soft snore interrupted their chatter. 

"Who's speaking?"

"Church."

A Grinch-like grin passed his features. "Wouldn't miss it for the _world._ "

William simply shook his head, looking back at the two of them one more time; Haytham typing quickly with one hand, the other buried into his son's hair as he slept. There was something fitting about it, even with his own skepticism and hesitation regarding their relationship. It was nice to see Haytham happy again. Hopefully it would last longer this time.

Haytham waited for the door to close before looking at the time, waiting... waiting... there. Nine o'clock and one minute. It was officially alright to wake up Connor by the standards of human decency.

… And he felt like being creative. It was far too easy to shove the lad off his lap and onto the floor, and quite frankly Haytham was in too good a mood to hear his complaining. Instead he shut the laptop and set it in his place, using one hand to hold Connor's head. He slept heavily when tired, which worked in his favor.

Worming his way through a bit of blanket, Haytham reached his destination with a grin, lifting the rug slightly so he could press his lips to his son's. Another peck, and another, Haytham was spurred by his own improved mood, tongue tracing the seam of lips before he kissed again. "C'mon lad, get up." Hopefully he wouldn't have to bite him. Yet.

-=-=-=-

Lucky indeed that Connor was a very heavy sleeper when tired; normally the squirming, while careful, would have woken him up as Haytham attempted to wiggle down underneath the blankets until they were facing.

He didn't respond to the kiss at first, save for a small twitch of his eyelids. They were no more than pecks, light and teasing, brushing over his lips; the second one had him frown lightly and when a wet tongue traced the seam of his lips Connor shifted his head slightly to move away from the ticklish feeling.

More pecks, and Connor was slowly beginning to stir, a soft incoherent mumble under his breath as Haytham's soft whispered pulled him back to the land of the awake.

Brown eyes blinked open, still heavy with sleep, and stared at the face hovering just inches away from his own. He blinked, eyebrows furrowing as his sleep-addling brain tried to make sense of where he was. Oh... right... the office. Bianca. Break up. Talking things over with his father. That explained why he didn't feel like he was sleeping on a proper bed, but on a couch.

“Dad?” he asked and blinked, groaning as he realized that it was light in the room because it was morning and that meant that he had to get _up_ and he didn't want to because he was comfortable and...! “It's too early for this, dad...” It was almost a whine, and Connor tugged the blanket over his head to block out the sun, only to lower it again seconds later, and meet his gaze with a frown. “What time is it?” He shifted slightly and suddenly stiffened, eyes widening before he groaned in annoyance. Noooooo, he hated morning wood! 

-=-=-=-

Too early? Haytham barely resisted the urge to scoff, nipping Connor's lips instead. "It's past nine, which means it's a humanly acceptable time to be awake. " The kisses continued, Haytham throwing in a nip or two along Connor's jaw. A good day indeed, Connor's skin peppered with the slightest dark stubble. Mm.

"Now, if it were between eight and nine, someone needs be on fire." He parted from Connor, deciding instead to lay across the boy, resting his weight on his arms as he sat in his lap. "Anything before eight and someone better be dying, before seven there should be Armageddon, as for the rest- don't wake me before seven." Haytham ignored every bit of squirming, relinquishing his weight and sitting completely in Connor's lap. "Oh stop squirming and-"

And between the thin material of his dress pants he felt what was the long, very aroused cock of his son slide between the cleft of the seem of his pants.

_Well._

Haytham gave an imaginary yawn, blinking innocently-or what could be considered innocently for Haytham- before casually rolling his hips, looking straight into Connor's eyes. "So, what do you fancy for breakfast? Sausage? A pork delicacy of some kind?" He barely kept his face straight, but the flush spreading across Connor's face was rather worth the horrible puns. "Perhaps a tossed salad."

And he couldn't help the chuckle that left him, shaking his head. Hiickey and his disgusting sexual ideas. That and Connor couldn't get anymore red.

He took little pity, stopping the comments and covering his mouth as he laughed, coughing a few times before the corners of his lips simply twitched, his composure back. "Really though, hungry lad?"

-=-=-=-

_Oh no no no no no don't move don't sit in my lap please don't you're was going to notice to feel-_

Ah... too late. And from the expression on his father's face he could clearly tell that Haytham knew _exactly_ what that was, having the gall to blink down at him before rolling his lips and o-ohh. Connor stiffened, fingers digging into the couch cushions as he fought to keep his hips still, and not roll back into the friction.

Well... at least he was awake now.

He didn't answer the questions about breakfast because, really... who the hell thought about _breakfast_ when something like this happened? Oh god his face was totally on fire, wasn't it?

Haytham finally stopped and though Connor barely managed to swallow down the whimper at the sudden lack of friction, leaving his cock to throb hotly in his pants. Just his pants, or rather Haytham's borrowed pants because he wasn't wearing any underwear either. Bringing spares with him hadn't exactly been the first thing on his mind when he left Bianca's place last night.

“I... uhhhh...” Connor swallowed thickly, trying not not move his hips and desperately wanting to anyway as he struggled for an answer. His fingers remained clenched in the couch cushions, so as to keep himself from grabbing Haytham's hips instead. Was he hungry? “I... think so?” His stomach wasn't growling, but he was probably hungry. It wasn't exactly important now, was it, with his father's warm body pressing down on a certain hard part of his anatomy?!

-=-=-=-

A single raise of his eyebrow. He thought so...? Either Connor had lost IQ points from mere contact with that woman or he was having an astounding effect on him.

Ah, perhaps it was both. Never the less, he could have fun with this.

"You're clearly is some sort of daze, lad." Leaning over him, Haytham couldn't help but reposition himself, Connor's very prominent erection nestling further into the crook of his own pants. "Perhaps some physical activity will liven you, awaken the senses and the like." He remained serious, excluding the cat caught the canary gleam in lively grey eyes.

"Trust me lad..." Teeth pressed to Connor's pulse, tongue skirting to trace the vein before he lifted his hips, desperately trying to ignore his squirming noises. "I'm a _doctor_ after all."

He bit down, hard. Hard enough to bruise skin beneath him and hard enough for Connor to yelp. Of course he simply fixed him with a gaze, licking his lips. "Now, now lad, not too loud." Again the seriousness, completely destroyed by his playful demeanor. "As a doctor, I recommend silence for the sake of your poor throat. As your _lover..._ " And it left him as a low purr, a lovely streak of aggression darting through him as he grabbed black hair and pulled, "… I recommend silence and digression. Wouldn't want someone else walking in on us, right lad?"

-=-=-=-

Physical activity? But they were in the office! Where people could just walk in without knocking! What if William walked in again? It had been so embarrassing the last time, he'd never survive that a second time!

The place where Haytham had bitten him throbbed pleasantly and he already knew that that was going to be a very clear bruise he'd have to cover up when he went back to Bianca's place to pick up his things later. This was something he did not want to explain to her.

“Have you been drinking?” he asked, wincing at the tight grip his father had on his hair. Even so, his hands finally removed themselves from the couch cushions and moved up to grip Haytham's hip, trying to shove him down again. Friction dammit! He needed friction!

He wasn't quite sure what had gotten into his father, he had never seen him this... playful before. But it was arousing. It was hot. He _liked_ it.

“S-should lock the door... just in case.” he breathed out and tightened his grip, trying to buck his own hips up, and managed to smirk despite his mad blushing. “Can't promise I can stay silent though.” He would have to of course, but he could play this game as well.

-=-=-=-

Was he...? Haytham rolled his eyes, frowning. "No, I'm in pleasant mood. You're so much nicer when you're quite and sleeping... or moaning incoherently." I lacked bite, though Haytham did pinch a nipple harder than he had to. If Connor wasn't silent this would get very interesting.

Heh, brazen little lad wanted to test him? His bravery was admirable. Foolish, but admirable. Haytham beamed into his neck, muffling a chuckle. Connor would be a quaking _mass_ unable of muttering his name by the time he was through.

Abruptly, Haytham got off his son, hand outstretched. "Desk, now." He practically yanked him upward and couldn't help but lift him, sitting him on the mahogany. His own clothing hung loosely to his thinner frame, hair disheveled and feathers hanging in a few different directions. 

The edge of playfulness dropped, and Haytham looked down, into large eyes and that masculine face. He had a large frame, he'd fill out the next few years and prove to be a strapping man. Even now he was so.

He let his hands drift over him, over the thinner collar bone and down his back, the other into ebony hair, and his tug was a little less harsh. His lips, however, spoke the truth.

The same passion he'd kissed with the previous night, all teeth and tongue. There was no asking, no questions, just his tongue dominating, teasing, flicking, tasting- he could appreciate the taste of him even more. Something with a bitter sweetness, something utterly unimaginable yet so satisfying. Haytham pushed him back, not hard, a simple press of his body, his chest moving forward and Connor following until he lay sprawled across his desk. He normally had better control, but Connor did ruin him now and again.

He separated with a sigh, unable to stop the upward twitch of lips. Mm. He quite liked being ruined, occasionally. "Undress." His fingers were already about his buttons, lips hovering above his chest. He'd enjoy this. They both would.

-=-=-=-

Connor stared up at him through half-lidded eyes, flat on the desk with his black hair fanning around around his head. The last time he had been in this position, facing the ceiling with his father standing between his legs and keeping him pinned, William had effectively ruined it, causing about four weeks of argument and fights between him and his father.

He should really tell him to lock the door before they continued to prevent it from happening again, but... what if that pissed him off for some reason? I didn't want to risk ruining this... he needed what was happening now, wanted what his father was offering, with no interference for once.

At the order to undress he reached up immediately and started to unbutton his shirt. He wasn't wearing much, just a shirt and pants, so this wouldn't take long but hey, he could tease. He let his fingers play around as he slowly moved them down to undo the buttons, sliding them down his chest and abdomen slowly. He parted the fabric as he moved down, exposing bronzed skin and darker colored nipples to view, a sharp contrast against the white fabric of his dress shirt. Reaching the bottom, all the buttons undone he left it there, not bothering to remove it completely and popped the button on his jeans. Pulling the zipper down he hesitated for a second, swallowing thickly as he closely monitored his father's expression and hooked his thumbs in the coarse fabric to push it down his hips; his cock sprung up immediately, no longer confined and standing hard and throbbing. 

-=-=-=-

Tease. Every inch of skin lay tantalizing, waiting for a flick of the tongue or the trace of large, calloused hands. He'd like to think himself a patient man but perhaps not, not as he almost tore Connor's pants down himself. Little minx he could be...

Grey eyes fluttered, a noise between a small sigh and a groan leaving his lips as Connor sprung free from his confinement, sans undergarments.

Blood rushed to his cock for reasons he couldn't fully comprehend nor bother to question. Hands removed the pants from Connor's body, letting them fall to a heap, and Haytham pressed two fingers to his own lips, the corners twitching. Two could tease.

Slowly, the tip of his tongue traced two long fingers, the flat resting on their underside as he closed his lips around them, pushing them half way into his mouth before pulling out. He never lost eye contact, his own eyes half lidded as he swiped the base of his fingers tips a few times, reinserting them into his mouth and offering the smallest of moans, pulling them out so rapidly saliva connected his lips and fingers. He licked his thumb for good measure, bypassing Connors cock in favor of rubbing his taint with his thumb and simply pressing finger to the cleft of his ass.

His thumb pressed, rotated, daring to rub along Connors sac before running over his taint again, Haytham merely rubbing, teasing. Watching Connor unfurl before his very eyes held such seductive quality.

-=-=-=-

Brown eyes watched every clever flick of his tongue, curling and licking and sucking and- it so wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that those fingers were getting all the attention. Fuck, he had to, _had do_ convince his father to give him a blow job one day! It would _so_ amazing.

“Let me guess... you don't have lube?” he asked as Haytham slathered his fingers with his own saliva. Huh, go figure... what was it with Haytham and no lube? He _better_ be thorough with preparing him! A little bit of burn he didn't mind but his father had difficulties controlling his tendency to be rough with him.

The back of his head fell back on the desk again as Haytham finally removed his fingers with a soft, wet pop and Connor jumped slightly as they touched underneath his balls seconds later. Huffing out a breath he squirmed a little, shifting to make himself more comfortable on the hard, flat surface, and spread his legs wider to allow his father more room to work with. His lower lip sucked between his teeth, worrying at it; what Haytham was doing was quite nice indeed, but he was avoiding the two places Connor wanted his fingers the most. At least he could take care of one of them himself; reaching up he spat into his own palm and jutted it down, firmly grasping his cock in a tight grip. His hips jumped and he moaned softly, before raising his head to glance at his father through half-lidded eyes.

“S-stop teasing me, dammit!” Get on with it already, he had waited long enough!

-=-=-=-

Teasing? The tip of Haytham's thumb traced Connor's taint, the tip of his finger still pressed against him, stroking his rectum. Oh no, this wasn't _teasing._

The single digit pressed into him with a soft, quick motion, Connor's hips almost impaling themselves. "Don't make me gag you, lad." He should deny Connor of the chance to give himself pleasure, but the hand on his own cock, smearing pre-cum over what was a very sizable erection gave him second thoughts. There was something so horribly arousing about that.

If Connor's bucking hips were any indicator, he was ready for a second finger. Haytham provided as much, watching his son stretch around him with a small sigh; mmm, tight muscles expanding under his ministrations, Connor's moans increasing slightly.

"Shh, lad." He couldn't stop the devious grin from sliding over his face, fingers hooking inside the tight heat, the very tips searching briefly and rubbing the small gland with constant, small rubs and small thrusts. "So loud already?" He stopped, retracting the two fingers and smirking devilishly.

"You could be so much more productive if only you put your voice to good use." He met brown eyes, cock twitching as they followed his tongue. Haytham swallowed thickly, hiding any uncertainty before licking a wet strip up his fingers, noting with almost surprise that the taste was not offensive. Hm. He gave another lick before sucking the third into his own mouth.

"You're a smart lad, yes?" Removing his fingers with a small pop, Haytham traced the lightly stretched opening again, eying Connor's erection and pumping hand with a sigh. "Put your voice to proper use. Tell me, what is it you want." Three fingers pressed, somewhat slower this time. So tight. Haytham shut his eyes, spare hand loosening his own belt, fiddling with his own zipper. He'd be deserving of the title of 'tease' when they were through.

-=-=-=-

He would have responded to the gag comment, but Haytham chose that moment to press a second finger in. The first had slipped in without real discomfort, but the second, while it didn't hurt, still had him scrunch up his expression for a moment. It helped that he was stroking himself, allowed his body to relax and accept the invading digits more easily.

He was vaguely aware that he might be too vocal, too loud, considering where they were, but it was hard to stop his moans and cries once they started. Almost impossible. Connor could only hope as he desperately bucked back on Haytham's finger that no one in the company decided they needed his father for anything. William was one thing, they could trust him to keep it a secret... but everyone else? No.

Connor would never live it down, and Haytham's reputation would be ruined.

He whined loudly, louder than he should, when the fingers removed themselves with a wet slurp, and he squirmed desperately before cracking his eyes open. The hell, dad?! Fucking tease indeed!

He watched with morbid fascination as Haytham stuck the fingers he had just used on him in mouth. It was... kinda grossing him out a little, only because he hadn't exactly been prepared for sex. It didn't seem to bother his father though.

“You want me to beg then?” he asked with a grumpy frown and stilled his own hand movements on his cock. Eh, he wasn't much for begging if he had to be honest... not like he had never begged before, he wasn't opposed to saying please, but... this was sexual; it was embarrassing. Humiliating. Even a little demeaning.

Also a little arousing.

His hand started up again, dragging a fingernail along what he knew to be a sensitive vein, and he shuddered as the fingers, three this time, slowly pressed in again. Hm... what had Caterina said during the banquet... that Haytham had a bit of a daddy kink? Whether that was true or not he didn't know, but... it was worth a try, no?

He tilted his head to the side slightly, staring up at his father with one eye, before he suddenly wrapped his legs around Haytham's waist and locked his ankles together to keep him in place. “What I want?” he asked. “Isn't it clear what I want, dad?” Meh, he wasn't very good at this whole dirty-talk thing, was he?

“What does it take to get you to do what I want? More of this?” A sharp flick of his wrist had him buck and tighten around his fingers with a gasp. “M-more of this then?” He tensed, squeezing around his fingers to draw them deeper, as deep as they could go, and shuddered as they rubbed against his prostate. “Or... or do you simply want me to say; please fuck me... and call you...” Another squeeze. “... daddy?”

-=-=-=-

...Ah. A few words in revealed the obvious. Connor had inherited his rather innate ability to horribly butcher sexual conversing.

Ah, well. Worth a try. Knuckle deep and still fingering him, Haytham found himself uncaring-

Oh. Muscles clamped around him, fingers sliding in knuckle deep. Haytham worried his lip as they tensed. Around his cock, how _tight_ would that feel? Perhaps Connor wasn't the most vocally astute but he quite preferred this anywa-

And for the second time Haytham stilled. Oh _god._ Hearing a woman say it with their softer, lighter voices had always been arousing. Admittedly he was, perhaps, a tad of an egoist in both life and bed. But... _Connor..._ on his desk, squeezing around him like a seasoned whore, unjaded but experienced enough to need no guidance. The words were a caress, lightly accented, deep roll of a voice permeating his arousal and bringing a bead of pre-cum to his cock.

Haytham withdrew his fingers immediately, spitting into the palm of his hand and slathered himself up as quickly as possible. Dilated eyes looked Connor up and down, hands grabbing knees and resting them on his shoulders, bending Connor almost in two as he leaned over him, pressing his nails in the thighs he momentarily gripped.

Relinquishing his hold of one dark, smooth thigh, Haytham wasted no time guiding himself in, head finding the opening and none to slowly stretching. Haytham grit his teeth but stared back into Connor's eyes, slowing once the head was almost fully inside. One roll of his hips and he plunged deeper. He kissed full lips, aware of the pained expression and stilled, muscles aching and throbbing around him.

The husky whisper of his voice said it all, Haytham aching to move with every quiver of Connor's body. "Again." He bit the neck beneath him, teeth tracing his fluttering pulse." Say it, again."

-=-=-=-

Connor winced as the fingers suddenly pulled out and he blinked, a little dazed as he watched Haytham spit in his hand to slather it onto himself. Er... whoa now.

Wait?

Brown eyes widened as hands under his thighs suddenly doubled him in two, his knees pressing against his shoulders. Ooooh no, he wasn't going to- no no no, dude dude dude!

Pressure, unrelenting pressure and Connor winced, squeezing his eyes shut as his lips pulled back to show white teeth tightly gritting together. It hurt, not horribly, but more than enough. Again, Haytham moved too fast, not giving him enough time to adjust properly... he supposed he should have seen it coming, and he only put up with it because he knew it would be get better.

Soon, he hoped.

Connor choked on a gasp when Haytham finally stilled, buried deep inside his clenching body, muscles spasming around him. Ffffffuck... damn it, dad! At least he was giving him some time now; he could tell that Haytham was eager to move but no... no... just a few more... seconds...

“D-dad... daddy... wait...” Whimpering softly as teeth traced the bite on his neck Connor slowly wrapped his legs around Haytham's waist again, and reached up to grip his shoulders tightly. Lube next time. Seriously. He meant it.

… okay... it was getting better now. Connor breathed out slowly, and again, and again, feeling his muscles adjust to the sudden stretch and the burn faded to a dull throb. He was still hard, his cock laying trapped between their bodies, but perhaps... if he could just... Squirming his hips Connor gasped loudly as his erection found friction against the material of Haytham's shirt, and the head of his father's cock brushed lightly against his prostate, muscles tightening around him. It felt weird calling him 'daddy' – Haytham and his weird kinks – but Connor could deal with it, would deal with it, to get what he wanted.

“Daddy... move, you can m-move now, daddy...”

-=-=-=-

Wincing, Haytham allowed Connor to move his legs (damn to be twenty again, he could not bend like that currently) and adjust, arms locking around his shoulders as thighs clenched his waist.

He vaguely wonder if Connor realized how _little_ the clenching helped.

He stilled regardless, gritting his teeth until Connor rocked, a fire resurfacing in the pit of him when he heard the words, “Daddy... move, you can m-move now, daddy...”

No need to ask him twice. Overcome with lust and drunk on a sense of power, Haytham pulled out as far as he could, wasting no time starting what was a brutal pace. He'd no patience for more adjustments, no self-control left; no, he'd wanted the lad underneath him, writhing an entire month prior. So much time _wasted._ No, this would be the best round of sex either of them had experienced.

The tip of his head barely remained, Haytham pulling out and slamming back in, each muscle tingling pleasantly at what was tight heat engulfing him. His own hands gripped the edges of his desk, well aware that pens, his stapler, and possibly the small lamp were all being knocked to the floor with every hard thrust. Luckily the desk was stable, Haytham griping hard and snapping hips, rolling them ever now and again, alternating between rubbing his prostate and pounding into it.

Teeth closed over Connor's pulse, biting, sucking- there wasn't enough skin to devour like this, not enough room to toy and tease Connor's cock. While the enticing moans and warm body coaxed him to stay, he needed more. Daddy needed _more._

With great remorse, he pulled himself from Connor, despite his legs beckoning him back in. "Lad." Damn he was short of breath already, licking his lips as he took another full view of Connor's body- that stretched ass, pre-cum covered cock, his own shirt hanging from him- oh the lad would be the death of him, over his desk, a sense of danger about...

… hm. Danger. Yes. It would serve a dual purpose, and he offered Connor his hand, frowning at his slowness to react. "Up, against the door, hands behind your back. _Now._ "

-=-=-=-

It was almost too fast for him. He was being jolted back and forth with the power of Haytham's thrusts, gliding over the desk. The thin material of the dress shirt he still wore only just barely protected the skin of his back from chafing against the wood of the table, as papers fluttered to the ground and a lamp crashed on the floor.

Neither cared.

Haytham's aim was perfect, hitting his prostate with dead on precision; Connor could do nothing by lay there and endure, holding onto whatever was in reach; the edge of the desk, his father's shoulders, his greying hair, as if his life depended on it. He no longer even felt the throb in his ass.

His shirt stuck to his sweaty skin and his expression scrunched up in ecstasy as he desperately rutted back against his father. His ribs visibly rolled under his skin as his back arched, tight like a coil, his wordless cries and moans filling up the office. Too loud, he was being way too loud, but he couldn't seem to stop it.

His cock begged for touch, and it took all his willpower to not reach down again and fist himself in the palm of his hand; what his father was doing was amazing, amazing enough he should be able to come from this alone.

Until he pulled out.

Connor's eyes snapped open and he raised his head, staring at his father with wide open eyes. No! Why did he stop now?! His hips still squirmed, trying to seek him out. “Dad, what-” He blinked at the offered hand slowly, the words taking their sweet time to filter through his brain... against the door? What door? _That_ door? The door that separated the office from the hallway, the very same hallway people walked through?! Had he gone insane?!

Swallowing thickly Connor glanced up again; the smirk was still present on Haytham's face, and Connor knew that look in his eyes. It meant that he wasn't taking no for an answer.

Well fuck. 

Especially because there _was_ a definite sense of danger to this, and crazy as it was, it was strangely exciting, the risk of getting caught. Oh he shouldn't do this, should not agree to this, but...

But dammit...

His legs nearly buckled as he slid off the desk, his feet once again having to carry his weight. His limbs felt too heavy, his movements slow and sluggish as he stumbled towards the door and all but flopped against the cool wood. He sighed in relief and turned his head to the side, pressing the hot skin of his cheek against the door. His fingers twitched and trembled in excitement and a little bit of anxiety as he crossed his wrists behind his back and glanced at Haytham. “They'll hear us.” he whispered... still he made no move to stop this from happening.

-=-=-=-

Slow, far too slow for his liking. Though admittedly, the pose was very much to his liking.

Tousled out of place hair, feathers in disarray, that thoroughly _fucked_ glaze in his dark eyes... all bundled up in his white office shirt, pert ass out as he leaned his face against the wood.

It took more self control than Connor could fathom, not to yank him by the hair, shove his face to the wall and begin seeking pleasure in that lovely ass of his. Shaking his head, Haytham knelt behind him, grabbing his dress shirt and tugging it down lightly muscled arms, tying the sleeves together as tightly as he could. He couldn't have Connor attempting to stop him.

As for his question... Haytham smirked, unable to resist nipping a pert ass cheek right under those bound hands. He rose swiftly, ignoring a slight crack his knee gave before whispering as he realigned himself, pulling Connor's hips until his body slanted at an angle, perfect for entry.

"Not if you behave and do as you're told." He deep, rolling chuckle left him as he swatted Connor's ass playfully. "Remember, if they hear you, they may enter."

As he said the word, he himself sought entry into the warmth Connor's body provided, stifling a moan as muscles parted for him, body pliant. "Remember..." One hand pulled dark locks, fisting them tightly as the other rested on Connor's hip, nails digging into skin. "… be silent."

Of course, he would hardly make that _easy._

The first thrust was hard, hard enough for his own testicles to slap against Connor's ass, the edges of his pants brushing tan skin. The second thrust was hard enough to pull a loud gasp, but Haytham wasn't going for gasps. Now the third- he found his footing, his angle, and quickly started a new rhythm, one so hard his own hips _hurt_ as he thrust.

And it hurt so very nicely.

Slick skin against skin, slapping and sliding. A bead of sweat ran down Haytham's clothed chest, and for a moment he lamented his clothed state before continuing his brutal pace. There was nothing gentle, nothing soft. He had to bite his own lip as he slammed into Connor's body, each spasm wonderful, enticing, drawing him deeper and making him crave more.

But damn it the boy was noisy. A frown, and Haytham gripped his hair tighter, thrust still rapid. "Lad, quiet down." It was supposed to be dangerous, but not obvious. And he would not slow down just because Connor wouldn't keep his mouth shut in the face of pleasure.

-=-=-=-

Well this was odd. Connor craned his neck, trying to look at his father over his shoulder. What, was he getting a rim job or something? His cock jumped at the idea – that didn't even sound that bad! - but his thoughts were quickly chased away when hands grabbed his shirt and tugged it down his arms slightly.

Before he could protest the material was wrapped around his crossed wrists and tied with the sleeves, effectively trapping his arms inside. “Dad, what the hell?” Well that was a first! He had never been _tied up_ before!

He quickly shifted on his feet to better his stance as Haytham angled his hips for better penetration, and he swallowed thickly; oh fuck, he had nothing to brace himself with, except his shoulders leaning against the door and his father's hands on his hips. Other than that there was nothing to help keep him balanced, and if he fell then things would get more than embarrassing _fast!_

A strangled but fortunately quiet moan left him as his father pushed his way back inside; he quickly swallowed it down and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling every inch of his father press its way deeper into his willing body until he was settled, the read resting tantalizingly close to his prostate. A hand in his hair pulled his head back and nails pressed into his skin, and despite the order to stay silent, Connor simply couldn't with how hard his father pulled out and thrust back into his pliant, body, setting a hard fast pace.

Even biting down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood didn't stop him from letting out sharp, loud groans each time he breathed out; the thrusts were hard enough they bordered on too much, forcing his body flat against the door and trapping his cock between his stomach and the wood; if his groans did not alert people to what they were doing, the banging against the door would... and what if he could not hold? Oh god, what if it totally broke under the abuse and send them sprawling out into the hallway and everyone would see and-

“AAHH!” Connor's entire body tightened, his head tipping back as he yanked and pulled at the fabric keeping his arms tight. He was helplessly trapped, unable to do anything but cry out as he fought to keep standing, the things his father was doing to him nearly overwhelming him.

The room was too hot, the air too thick; he felt trapped in every sense of the word and he was _close,_ so very close now! 

-=-=-=-

So tight, spasming, moving, writhing, wanton, thrusting-

"AHH!"

… Fuck that was too loud! Haytham's body rocked, sweat on his brow. Damn it Connor. He supposed it wasn't entirely the boys fault- even from here he could see his body was quaking, his thrusts bordering on ruthless. Haytham simply had that effect on people in their throes, even evidently those half his own age.

If that wasn't an ego boost... a smirk landed across his face, but topped at another loud moan. He was left no other option, he would not loose his pace when he was so close.

The hand fisting black hair regrettably dropped, and none to lightly covered what was Connor's moaning mouth, muffling the sound. Gruff and deep, his voice was but a harsh, warm puff of breath against the shell of Connor's ear. "Bite if you must. Make me bleed. I don't _care._ " His hips ached, and he still fucked him- hard, as hard as he could, nuzzling Connor's neck before biting, teeth clamping around muscle until skin broke. Only then did he part, coppery red staining his lips and part of his teeth.

"I will _fuck_ you until I find release." No apologies, no softening, no lessening his pace. Haytham's hand tightened around Connor's mouth, muffling his load wanton moans. Close, so close. "Cum, lad." Connor was trembling, thrashing even against the door, and Haytham wondered if anyone may have come to realize what they were doing. Part of him wondered if they'd know he was with his son.

And part of him could not give a single damn.

-=-=-=-

Connor's eyes widened drastically as a hand suddenly clamped tightly over his mouth, greatly reducing the volume of his cries. They still came, they wouldn't stop, but they came out muffled now, strained... controlled.

He wouldn't bite, the thought didn't even cross his mind as he gulped in as much air as he could through his nose. He felt dizzy and a little light headed; his father's hands on him, with his body stabilizing him from behind as the door did the same, were the only things still keeping him standing.

So close, his body was tightly wound like a serpent ready to strike, muscles trembling and squeezing under the fast paced onslaught they were forced to endure. It wasn't the stinging bite on his throat that finally pushed Connor over the edge, but the whispered words in his ear and the tightening over his mouth, telling him to cum.

And cum he did; he bucked and squirmed, drastically tightening around Haytham as his back arched enough the back of head nearly rested on his father's shoulder, nearly screaming behind his hand. Rope after rope of stringy seed shot out of his cock in short but powerful bursts, painting white stripes over the door, a sharp contrast against the dark, polished wood.

Orgasm crashed into him in quick, powerful waves, shooting white hot pleasure to every corner over his body until it was almost too much to handle. Connor nearly collapsed when it ended; his legs were trembling hard enough to could barely support his weight as he sagged against his father like a ragdoll. Covered in a sheen of sweat, he could do nothing but endure the continued thrusts behind him, whimpering softly as his spent body was overstimulated. 

Surely... surely he'd cum soon as well?

-=-=-=-

Haytham stilled for the first time, gritting his teeth as muscles urged him to cum. No, he was too entranced, feeling Connor jerk, his body spasm against him as he writhed. Moaning, breathing, his body trembling as he rested his weight on Haytham, and he was only satisfied when he saw the door baring streaks of white.

Into his son's loose body, about eight solid thrusts, and he could take no more. A low moan left him, baring Connor's name, whispered into the lad's ear as he thrust for a final time, stilling deep inside of him. Orgasm left him in hard, long spurts... he was already supporting Connor's weight. In addition to his own release, powerful as it had been, he hadn't the strength.

He managed to brace himself, hand extending to touch the wall and an arm around Connor as he borderline dropped them both, onto a satiated heap on the carpet. Breathless, his chest heaved, Haytham panting, and he unbuttoned his shirt with fingers that trembled. A look at Connor, and the same state of dishevelment could be seen, a sheen of sweat gracing his skin as well.

Grey eyes narrowed, however, at the distance between them. After a few seconds to catch his breath, he extended his arm and tugged, meeting Connor half way on the carpeted floor. Side by side, he could offer that much.

"… Daddy... was a nice touch." It was said between heavy pants, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "God, supreme being, great one, master, and the almighty one will also merit the same response." He gave Connor a wink and shrugged. "To fill your curiosity, if applicable."

-=-=-=-

Connor snorted softly. Urgh no he wasn't going to feed his father's ego even more. “Don't get used to it...” he muttered... there was no way that he would call him 'daddy' (or any of those other things for that matter) every single time they had sex. 

Though... perhaps, maybe he would again sometime because it had riled Haytham up so nicely – could still do with lube though. His ass throbbed something _fierce,_ and whenever he tried to move it hurt more. And now that they were both coming down from their high the temperature in the room seemed to cool down as well; covered in cooling sweat and with only a thin dress shirt that only covered his arms and back now Connor started shivering, wishing he could get to his clothes.

Oh wait, he didn't have any here. Durrrrrr.

And a shower... but those were in the gym on the fourth floor, unless Haytham had a secret shower hidden somewhere else. “Dad, my arms... could you...?” Brown eyes flicked up to look at him, a tired but sated expression on his face. It had been great, despite everything, and it had helped to allow him to forget for a moment; to forget about Lee and to forget about Bianca. And for that, he was his father more than grateful.

His fingers were going numb though. 

-=-=-=-

"Mm? Oh, yes." Right, his arms. He needed those.

Haytham wasted no time untying the shirt, though he did twitch at the sight of his finger tips tinged purple. Oops. Perhaps he had been a touch overzealous. Ah, well. The lad was young and would certainly heal.

That and it had been one hell of a time.

"How's the rest of you fairing?" It was meant as a lighthearted joke. Haytham stood and offered Connor a hand, eying his sweat slick frame, flaccid cock, a touch of semen and blood-

Oh. A double take and he winced, scratching the back of his head. "Perhaps it's best if you don't exert yourself for the time being." The carpet was plush, not that Connor would listen to him. He didn't expect him to.

~*~

They didn't remain at the office for much longer. After a quick shower and an even quicker breakfast, Haytham left his laboratory for the first time in nearly month, with his son next to him. Alone. Girlfriendless.

And his grin was back, stretching from ear to ear. Indeed, Connor would be all to him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is. Chapter 9. As you may or may not have noticed, I updated the main tags as well. I might add more the further we get because adding more now would be spoilerific.
> 
> The previous 8 chapters all led up to this, and what begins in this chapter is basically the beginning of a **HUGE** plot point that will span many chapters and will have a lot of smaller plot points. The real story begins here. Many of you have said that previous chapters were emotional rollercoasters... yeah, it gets a LOT worse from this point on. XD *hands everyone tissue boxes*  
>  Also introducing a few new characters, one in particular I think you guys will like.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include: **graphic bloody violence; slavery themes; mentions of drugs, prostitution and racism, lots of angst and the all important one; RAPE.**
> 
> I have been kinda hyping this chapter up, so I hope it will not disappoint. *crosses fingers* Any typos and the like will be fixed as soon as I learn about them.  
> Also, I will probably be doing Vindication doodles soonish, and they will be posted on my Tumblr (cause I finally caved in and made one). For those who are interested: http://simplyconnorific.tumblr.com/ (yes, shameless self advertising!)

It was... hard, concentrating on the laptop screen in front of him while she was worshiping his neck like this. Connor's knuckles were slowly turning white as he tightened his hold on the mouse, trying to ignore what she was doing... without much success, because she knew all his weak spots and exploited them perfectly. “Myriammmm~” That wasn't a whine, dammit.

“Hmmm.” Her purr sent a shiver down his spine and Connor was slowly starting to give up on trying to read on whatever Shaun was sending him over Skype. Something about a school project, which was the main reason he was at Myriam's place right now. To work on said school project. Not to do... this.

Though... it would provide the much needed distraction he was looking for so badly... these last few weeks had been rough, very rough, what with what had happened with Bianca and... and Lee... He swallowed thickly and blinked a few times, focusing on the heap of text Shaun was typing. There was nothing to be done about it. Lee was gone, had made a run for it like the coward he was the second he could and had probably left the States already. That wasn't stopping his father from throwing heaps of money to the police to get them to search for the bastard with everything they had of course, but Connor had little hope that they would ever catch the guy.

Lee was many things, and unfortunately smart was one of them.

“Have I ever told you how happy I am that you broke up with Bianca?”

“No.” Connor wheezed – oh god that tongue was _sinful!_ “I think I'm about to find out though.” He and Bianca barely talked anymore. They still had a few classes together but ever since their breakup a few weeks ago, they had stuck to simply saying hi when they passed each other in the hallway, and nothing more.  
They weren't on unfriendly terms, and perhaps one day they could hang out as friends but for now it was best to keep their distance from each other. Either way, Myriam didn't seem to mind the breakup at all, as Connor had been... well, simply put, ignoring her while dating Bianca. She knew Connor hadn't done that on purpose, but she was glad to have her best friend back!

“You're right. You are.” Myriam drew back after placing one final bite just below his ear, pulling a soft hiss from him, and rubbed her thumbs into his shoulders. “Give me ten minutes to get ready. I expect to see you on the bed naked, when I come back.”

Connor smirked and glanced over his shoulder, “Yes ma'am!” as Myriam disappeared into the bathroom, and turned towards his screen again. Hm, now to make it clear to Shaun that he was taking a well deserved break from their school project because sexy time was more important and- oh hey, an incoming message.

“Er...” What the hell did dad want? Fingers on the keyboard he typed quickly: 'yes?'

-=-=-=-

Another drawn out day, and the tedium of work was getting to him. Then again, handling everything yourself was a tad more complicated without an assistant constantly by your side.

Knuckles whitened and teeth ground at the very thought. He was dead to him. Charles Lee was dead to him, and by god if their paths ever crossed again, they wouldn't be able to identify his corpse.

So much for focus... fingers tapped the mahogany desk, clicking the report away in favor of staring at his new background. Connor and he, taken last Summer during another short hunting trip. Beautiful weather that day, the game had been plentiful. Though the hunting was hardly the most substantial thing to occur that day.

Not that they had gone all out, no more than a few kisses and touches, but they had meant something. To him anyway.

While Connor could be dense, there was no possible way he missed the subtle hints... surely he understood. He had Ziio and his blood in his veins, he had to understand the implications. Haytham had flat out declared he had a growing fondness of the lad. As understated as it was, it was no less a confession.

And if he had to confess something... he quite liked trusting somebody again.

His thoughts remained on Connor, and out of sheer curiosity he signed onto Skype; the lad was known for dwaddling on it. Ah, there he was. He had handled events with Charles Lee far better than expected. And the events between them were handled just as well.

Chuckling to himself, Haytham allowed his thoughts to drift, the now familiar warmth between his legs unsurprising. Well, the lad was nothing if not attractive. An expert with his tongue... and online on Skype, no doubt as bored as he.

… well, he could entertain them both for a time.

Shrugging of his suit jacket, he locked the door to his office and stripped down to nothingness. Skin pimpled under the cool hum of the air conditioner, Haytham reclining on his leather sofa, daring to type a word to his son. It took but a moment for his response, an elegant eyebrow raising. 'Are you alone, perchance bored lad?' He had that blasted project after all... though this would surely be a much appreciated break for them both.

My, what his growing affections gave him courage to do. He quite liked that too.

-=-=-=-

An eyebrows rose and Connor blinked slowly. Alone? Wellllllll... not per say, but Myriam was still in the bathroom and would be for a while longer. Whatever this was about, he could humor Haytham for about ten minutes. After that, too bad! Sexy time!

'i am. why?'

Why indeed? He had let his father know that he would be at Myriam's place to work on their school project for History class, and while Haytham still didn't give a damn about history, this project when completed successfully was worth a lot of credits, and therefor important. Whatever his father wanted to tell him now, it had to be important too otherwise he wouldn't disturb him. Right?

He had thought that the sex with his father would really start to bother him after a while, but the truth was, it didn't. It was good. Hell, it was some of the best sex he'd had his entire life! He'd never pictured his father for a kinky figure, but he was and Connor had learned that first hand.

He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly, as well as a stirring in his jeans, and shifted. Calm down... he'd rather not squirm with a hard-on for ten minutes or however long it took for Myriam to get ready.

'kinda busy tho. school project' He typed after a few seconds and frowned before pressing enter. This had better be good.

-=-=-=-

He scoffed, typing back quickly. 'It won't take more than a few minutes.' Licking his palm and shutting his eyes, Haytham simply recalled the prior evening; Connor’s moans, the twists and erotic turns, his back arching and skin slick… no, it took little effort to reach a state of arousal. A tight squeeze of his calloused hand and flesh hardened further at lust ridden thoughts.

This wouldn't take more than a few minutes. 'Turn your camera on lad. It's a surprise. Mic too.' He'd comment on his son's lack of Skype propriety later, his punctuation was nauseating.

Setting the laptop on the side table, he moved, deciding on a head on display. Face flushing at his own lascivious behavior, he spread his legs- not unlike a common whore- resting them far apart. Fingers began their teasing; pumping his cock in tight, slow strokes. Mmm, a tight grip like his son had. He just barely managed to stifle a moan, breathing uneven. This would pay off, certainly. His son couldn't deny his affections after this.

He waited for Connor to come into view, and smirked as brown eyes widened at the sight of him. The smooth, silken purr of his voice fed through the mic, Haythams grey eyes staring into the lens dead on. "I thought a break was needed, lad. For us both." Fingers traced a prominent vein, a flush developing on his face unlike anything he'd ever produced. He removed the hand from his cock to bite the tip of his index finger, a nervous habit acquired long ago. "This should relax you."

-=-=-=-

His web cam? Argh, couldn't this wait until he came home tonight? Connor cast another glance at the closed bathroom door, not sure what he was nervous about; it wasn't like it would make a difference if Myriam walked back out before his dad was done telling or showing him whatever he wanted to tell or show. He could just tell him that he was out of time and that it could wait until tonight.

'fine'

Reaching out he switched on his web cam and grabbed his headset, shoving it onto his head and pushing the microphone in place. At the same time a message popped on his screen, requesting permission to share media from the other side. Clicking accept Connor leaned back in his chair and crossed over his chest, not sure what to expect...

… and it sure as hell wasn't this!

His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened drastically, almost comically, dumbly blinking at the screen. His father, his hot fuck of a father, slouched down in his office chair and as butt naked as on the day he was born, with one hand on his impressive erection, toying, stroking...

“Ohfuck.” That came out a bit higher than he would have liked, but right now Connor couldn't care less, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck ohfuck ohfuck ohfuckohfuckohfuck! Stiffening in his chair he breathed in deeply, his face turning a very interesting shade of red as he released the air with a tiny moan and tightly gripped onto the edge of the desk with both hands, to have something to hold onto, to not reach down and-

Oh screw it.

“Y-yeah. Break sounds good.” Really good! The words came out breathless as he reached down with his left hand and quickly wormed it inside his pants – he could always tell Myriam he had been browsing porn or something. It wasn't too far from the truth.

“D-dammit dad... what prompted this?” Not that he was complaining, but damn. _Damn!_ If this was what boredom did to his father, then he'd better be bored more often!

He couldn't help but suck his lower lip between his teeth as he watched his father bit the tip of a finger in what he had come to recognize as being a sign of nervousness... had Haytham ever done this before? In front of a web cam? Was he the first to get to see him like this?

Oh that thought went straight down into his cock!

“Fffffuck! Hnngn... quicker. Faster!” The fact that he was sitting in Myriam's bedroom was already forgotten.

-=-=-=-

"Never you mind why." It lacked bite though, playful and deep. Glazed eyes watched his son shimmy out of his pants, the bite on his finger tip increasing in pressure at the instruction. Well, well, a little bossy... though the tone and lusty look solely for him made him consider obeying.

But where was the fun in that?

"Mmm... quicker, like this?" His eyes blazed, looking into brown, a smirk tugging at his lips. His cock demanded attention, finger leaving his mouth to trace his heated flesh, flitting over a bead of pre-cum and teasing his slit. The other increased pace marginally, strokes slow, teasing both of them.

"Mm. Perhaps this?" His own large hand cupped his testicle, Haytham unable to control the gasp that left him. He’d always been sensitive there... he stroked the pads of his fingers over his sac, a moan leaving him as he jerked.

"You should show me, perhaps, what you expect of me later." His chest heaved, body sensitive, his hand gripping his cock tightly, teasingly. "I'll make it worth your while, lad." He licked his lips as he said it, chuckling. He was just as flushed, as nervous as Connor, he simply hid it better. That and... this was quite _intoxicating,_ the attention he received. It was gratifying to know he was the person making his son's cock the hardest.

-=-=-=-

Yes yes yes, like that, just like that. He bit down harder, the thin skin of his lower lip threatening to split under the force of his teeth. The sensitive microphone picked up _everything,_ the slick of pre-cum and saliva, of fingers stroking harder, Haytham's heavy breathing.

“Show you?” Hmmm... Connor smirked and shifted, raising his hips slightly so he could push his jeans down a little further, giving his father a better look. “I don't plan on sticking anything up there today, not after everything it suffered through last night.” Last night had been _rough_ , - as usual – though not unpleasantly though. Quite the opposite in fact, but he was still sore and aggravating it now didn't seem like such a good idea.

Especially not because he still had to perform soon.

“So why don't you just make this worth my while, hm? And then I'll make it worth your while tonight when I get home? Another blow job mayb-”

“Connor!”

He nearly jerked out of the chair and quickly wrenched his hand away from his cock as he whirled around in his chair, staring at Myriam with a horrified look on his face; she was standing right behind him, wearing nothing but her panties, her wide eyes fixated on the screen. “Is that... is that your dad?!”

“It's... it's not what it looks like!” Except that it totally did...

-=-=-=-

A low, rich chuckle left him. "What, can't handle your 'old man' and his vigorous pace, lad?" Though the promise of something a little later, when he arrived home... he pumped harder, engorged flesh throbbing in his hand as he listened to a promise of pleasure leave his son's mouth. Eyes shut as he whispered his name, sure the mic could pick it up. "Connor."

"Connor! Is that... is that your dad?"

His eyes couldn't have snapped open any quicker, eye twitching at the utter brilliance of his son's reply. Oh Christ, Connor!

Turning the laptop and camera around with one hand, Haytham blinked. His face burned, damn it. All of him _burned._ That little _idiot!_ He asked if he was alone! No, he was with Myriam, a topless Myriam-

Wait...?

He pulled on his pants quickly, his shirt following as he turned the laptop back around, flushed face the only indicator that something was wrong. That, and the gleam in grey eyes.

"I asked if you were alone for a reason, you twit!" A venomous hiss, and for the time being Haytham ignored Myriam's nudity, seeing as he himself had been on display just a moment prior. "I thought you were working on a project. Schools really must have changed since I've last attended one." His tone remained clipped, arms crossing over his chest.

This was wrong. This was so incomprehensibly wrong. Bianca was out of Connor's life, and Haytham had been his sole comfort for weeks. Or at least he thought he had...

"How long has this been happening?" There was an unmistakable bite in his tone... what he'd just done was far from typical on his end. He wasn't one to display himself like some harlot for other's enjoyment! It had taken weeks to garner the courage to do this... and Connor was... what? Having sex with anyone and everyone? He thought this ended after that train wreck of that Bianca girl!

It sure _seemed_ that way. What's worse was, he couldn't even be angry at Myriam, it wasn't her fault. And he _liked_ her. No, this was Connor's folly. And he demanded answers, damn it.

-=-=-=-

Oh god oh god oh no oh _shit!_

He couldn't look at her now. He just couldn't. His face was _burning._ One quick glance at the screen showed the white paint of the wall but he could hear the rustling of clothes on the background.

“Connor, what...?” She asked weakly, bewildered, but Connor just flapped his hand towards her and quickly pulled his pants back up; the surprise of Myriam suddenly standing behind him _watching_ had completely killed his erection.

“Please don't ask...”

“But... but...”

“Myriam...”

“You and your dad?!”

“Myriam, please!” Pulling up the zipper he turned and fixed her with a desperate, pleading look in his eyes. “Please don't tell anyone... this... dad and me, it's more much complicated than it looks. No one can know.”

Before he could make her promise the screen on the laptop whirled around again and Haytham appeared in view once more, once again dressed but still a little red faced... though Connor feared that wasn't just from embarrassment anymore. 

“I was alone.” he muttered as an answer. “She was in the bathroom.” He glanced at her, noting that she still stood bare chested and staring at the screen with a dumbfounded look on her face; bristling he snatched the blanket off the bed and quickly draped it around her body, ushering her back towards the bathroom.

“We were working on our school project if you must know... but we got distracted. Surely _you_ know what that's like.” Flopping back into his chair he sighed, trying not to look at his father's face as he fingered the cord of his headset.  
What did it matter how long this had been happening? It wasn't like he was cheating on anyone. He wasn't in a relationship with anyone right now, what did it matter who he had sex with?

“We didn't do anything while I was with Bianca, I didn't cheat on her. We... what I told you a year ago was true; Myriam and I have been in a relationship once but it didn't work out so we simply stayed friends.” He shrugged and shifted, looking a little uncomfortable now; it was weird talking to his father about this, especially after what had just transpired. “Friends with benefits kinda. This has been happening occasionally for the last three years or so. It's just physical, a way for us to relieve stress, nothing more.” In other words, pretty much the same things as he and Haytham. And besides, Haytham had no reason to bitch, as he had coaxed him into sex while he had still been with Bianca!

Why the hell was he even telling him this? “Look, what Myriam and I do is not important anyway! I _was_ alone in the room when you asked, you should have been more specific instead of... of... shoving _that_ in my face! I told you last night that I'd be at Myriam's place today!”

-=-=-=-

He kept silent, brilliant eyes narrowing. Just physical? Perhaps for _him_ it was!

… And pardon him? "If it doesn't matter you wouldn't be defensive. You know _why_ it matters, boy. While this may be purely physical for _you_ there are people involved, with contradicting feelings." Namely his own. That should go without saying. Sex meant more than a simple physical outlet to him. He was picky for a reason. People hurt one another. Trust made one vulnerable.

It was a lesson he still evidently hadn't learned if the knot in his throat meant something.

"Don't try semantics with me, you know very well what I meant. And you didn't interrupt me the moment I shoved this in your face as you so quaintly put it. From where I'm seated, you enjoyed it. Thoroughly. Though you seem to enjoy anything remotely sexual with multiple partners so perhaps it was something _else._ " He was shaking. _Damn it Haytham, stop._ There would only be one man walking away wounded, that was clear. No reason to twist the knife deeper.

"Sorry to intrude, Myriam." He began winding up the chord to his mic. He didn't need to deal with this.

-=-=-=-

Connor stiffened visibly, his expression going blank as those words hit home.

Haytham made it sound like the sex meant more to him, and not just on a purely physical level, but how was he supposed to know that? His father was always distant with his emotions, even now when things had gotten much better between them. He was always rough during sex, still refused to even use actual lubricant even when he asked for it – Haytham always had an excuse ready so he wouldn't have to. Never, not even once had Haytham showed him that it was supposed to be more than just sex. More than just physical stress relief, or for comfort. Never.

How was he supposed to read his father's true intentions if Haytham never gave him the chance to? He had been completely caught of guard with the web cam and in the end he was still only human and male. How else had he been supposed to react when confronted with _that_ without warning?

What was worse was what Haytham was insinuating. Connor liked sex, but like his father he was picky about his partners. He did _not_ sleep around, and certainly not with more than one partner at the same time. No one night stands with strangers, never, no... no... yet his father had basically just called him a slut anyway. That hurt, because it wasn't true. And he could defend it all he liked, but it wouldn't make a difference, he knew that.

At least Haytham had the decency to apologize to Myriam. Connor wouldn't say he wasn't to blame himself either, but... but _that_ had been uncalled for. “Well...” he said softly and looked down, unable to meet his father's eyes now. “At least now I know what you truly think of me. It doesn't make you any better, and it still didn't stop you from fucking me. Remember that at least.” With that he took off his headset and shut off the microphone, not wishing to hear anymore lies... or truths, because honestly he didn't know anymore.

-=-=-=-

Jaw clenched and teeth grit, Haytham waited for the defense. What resounding argument would the boy offer this time? Oh he could only wonder with his propensity for the stupid.

… It wasn't what he'd expected, though he did scoff at the better-than-him comment, watching the camera and mic disconnect with a glare. What he said was _true._ He had slept with himself and Myriam at the same damned time. Granted he didn't like seeing his son hurt, but damn it he was hurting too. This was beyond unacceptable, he was a damned adult and sometimes the truth hurt.

Even if he could take it back, he wouldn't. Yes he'd slept with the boy, thinking... what was he thinking? He was a damned boy, without an ounce of maturity in him. To do something like this with Myriam a room away... it was low. Perhaps his phrasing was harsh, but it had met their mark.

Not that it made him feel better. He'd just... shown another side of himself, one he'd rather not show to anyone. And the result was the same. Betrayal. Angst. Rage.

And a subtle amount of pain, familiar and almost forgotten.

His laptop shut with a click, Haytham sending a text via his phone, quite aware Connor would probably ignore it. _We're not done. Tomorrow, after your classes, meet me here. Don't dwaddle._

Because he had more to say. Even now he wanted to salvage something, no matter how impossible. He felt his intentions were damned clear... evidently Connor was more dense than he'd thought. He'd simply need to tell him outright... but not now. No. Now he needed a hard, long drink of a fine wine.

-=-=-=-

“Connor?”

Straightening her shirt Myriam quietly left the bathroom, watching her friend sit slumped down in the chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers and the screen of the laptop now blank. It was clear that there indeed was more going on than what it looked like at first glance, just like he had said. Connor didn't react, didn't turn around and only spoke a few soft words. 

“He said he was sorry he intruded. Just so you know... he didn't know you were here.” Because he hadn't been fucking specific!

“No, it's... it's alright, I didn't see much... Connor?”

“What?”

His flat tone worried her, but she guessed she couldn't blame him really. “What is going on between you and your father?”

He didn't answer. Honestly, what was he supposed to tell her? Details? An answer to why? He didn't even know himself! It had happened, and it had continued, and it had been doing so for nearly a year now. “Please don't worry about it, okay?” he finally answered and straightened slowly, taking a deep breath though he was still avoiding looking at her. “It's fine.”

“It clearly isn't. Connor, your father, he isn't... tell me he isn't a...”

“No!” Hell no. He shook his head and brushed his fingers through his hair, shrugging. “He's many things but he's not a rapist. It has always been consensual. We're not... we're not hurting anyone with this, Myriam, so keep it a secret?”

“You're clearly hurting yourselves!”

“Just an argument, we'll talk it over. Please, Myriam. Promise.”

“I...”

He turned then, slowly, and Myriam felt herself go tense as she met his eyes, watching the many emotions swim around in his dark brown orbs; anger, sadness, confusion, desperation, hurt. “No one can know, Myriam. This was supposed to have stayed between me and him. And it's probably over now anyway. So please, please keep it a secret?”

Oh jesus... she wrapped her arms around herself, keeping her eyes locked with Connor and then, finally, nodded. What else was she supposed to do? She _couldn't_ tell this to anyone for obvious reasons.

“Thank you.” It sounded heartfelt.

“Does... does anyone else know?” she asked and Connor stood up, grabbed his bag and began stuffing his things inside. 

“William does. He wasn't okay with it at first, but he is now.”

“Where are you going?”

“Don't know. I'll probably... walk around for a bit, clear my head.”

“You can stay here you know? Just... to sleep? If you don't wanna go home yet?”

“Thanks, but no. It's unlikely he'll be home tonight anyway. He'll probably bunk in his office again.” He quickly pulled on his jacket and slung his bag over his shoulder, Myriam following him to the door. “Tell Shaun I'm sorry. The project will have to wait until next week.”

“I will... Connor?”

Connor stopped in the doorway and turned, waiting. Myriam hesitated for just a second and then stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him into a hug. “Be careful, okay? Don't do anything stupid.”

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her as well. She truly was the best friend one could wish for. “I promise. I'm sorry this scared you.”

“Ha, are you kidding me?” She pulled back and smirked. “I finally got to see what he's hiding in his pants. Impressive.” It was an awkward attempt to lighten the mood and Connor felt his lips twitch a bit. Impressive indeed. She leaned forward again and quickly pecked him on the cheek. “See you tomorrow at school?”

He nodded and stepped back, smiling at her one last time before he turned and walked down the steps, hearing the door softly close behind him.

-=-=-=-

A long, slow night if there ever was one. He'd attempted the piling mountains of work, hours dwindling away. He'd barely accomplished anything, glaring at documents before setting them aside. Laboratory work, then. Physical work that required constant thinking, that's what he'd focus on.

Unfortunately the idea provided little relief, Haytham staring at the centrifuge for a solid forty five minutes. Empty, he was completely void of feeling. The anger had long subsided, and with the rising sun came anxiety, trepidation.

Hours awake and nothing accomplished, Haytham found solace in a few sleeping pills and a fine wine, forcing himself to sleep. Nothing would improve with worry, he'd meet Connor later that day, they'd discuss what happened- and move from there. Granted, he felt it was Connor's fault, but a few hours of silent contemplation and he was willing to at least _hear_ the boy out. He was no less hurt, but he'd give him a chance to explain.

Except Connor never showed. 

Foot tapping against the tile, Haytham's mood soured further, so did his desire to hear excuses. He wouldn't text him again, he'd received it; no, he wasn't a desperate man, nor would ever become one. This was his own fault, Connor was simply to immature to understand his subtlety, and Haytham was too impatient to explain his actions. He wasn't a man of words, he was one of action. If Connor could not see he made himself vulnerable than perhaps it was for the best.

The anger ebbed as hours passed, agitation hitting Haytham as he opened the door to their home. "Connor?" Nothing. The boy was probably still at Myriam's, instead of coming home straight after class, like he _should have._ It was to be expected, or at least he supposed it was. Connor's immaturity didn't make the situation any more bearable, and Haytham's mood declined further.

The following day lead to nothing. Not a word, not a text, not an e-mail- nothing. Had he truly offended him that severely? He could only picture hurt in doe-like eyes, unable to shake the thought. Once again, his own feelings were put aside, Haytham was more interested in getting Connor to speak to him again. He could be angry in his own time.

All agitation left him the following day. Exhausted and no longer aggravated, Haytham sat at their shared table with a sigh, examining the empty spot across from him unblinking. He wasn't worried. Not yet. He still had one chance to reach an understanding with his son, to get him on speaking terms. No matter how awkward, it needed to be done.

Grabbing his phone fingers dialed quickly, his voice calm and even, waiting until she answered. "Myriam..." He hesitated, swallowing thickly before sighing, speaking rapidly. "… tell Connor I'm not angry, not any longer. I see that what happened was more a case of a miss-communication rather than negligence. Having said that, his refusal to speak to me or come home isn't helping the situation." He sighed again, defeated. 

"I would very much appreciate if you told him I'd only like to talk when he comes home." Because maybe, just maybe, he was feeling more for his son than he had thought possible. It was simply more comfortable with his presence near.

-=-=-=-

Myriam slowly lowered the phone and glanced down at the screen, staring at Haytham's name. She had picked up as soon as she could, hoping, desperately hoping that it was Connor... instead it was his father. Haytham had never called her before; they had exchanged phone numbers a year ago, in cases of emergencies and the like... and now he was calling her, telling her that... Connor hadn't come home.

Her voice trembled as he pressed her phone to her ear again. “He... he's not here.” she whispered and slowly sat down on her bed. What was going on? “I haven't seen him since he left three days ago, after... after the Skype incident. He left shortly after, said he needed some fresh air and would return home soon.”

Clearly he hadn't. Oh god... had something happened? Connor had looked pretty upset when he left and she had told him to not do anything stupid, but... but...! “He didn't show up at school either, I assumed he called in sick.” Even though Connor would usually send her a text when he wasn't feeling well and planned to stay home, but after what had happened on Skype she had felt it would be better to give him some space and not bother him with worrying messages.

But... he wasn't even home? Hadn't been home at all? Haytham hadn't seen him either? For three days?! “W-wait, I'll ask Shaun, maybe he heard something!” Quickly putting him on hold she typed in Shaun's number and waited, nervously plucking at her bedsheets as it rang... pick up pick up pickuppickuppickuppickup pick-

_“Yes?”_

“Shaun!”

_“That's me.”_

“Shaun, have you heard anything from Connor? Anything at all? A message, an e-mail? Anything?”

_“Er... no. Thought he was sick since he didn't show up at school-”_

“He hasn't been home for three days! I have his dad on the line, he thought Connor was here with me!”

_“Whoa wait wait wait. Are you saying that Connor is missing?”_

Missing. The word dropped like a brick in her stomach.

Connor was _missing._

“I-I'll call you back.”

 _“No wait, Myri-”_ Putting Shaun on hold as well Myriam quickly switched back to Haytham and this time there was no mistaking the growing panic in her voice. “Shaun h-hasn't heard anything from him either!” 

-=-=-=-

"..." 

Silence, nothing but silence engulfed to keep him company as she called Shaun, wide eyes staring at the blank wall before him. Connor must have gone with Shaun then, he must have wanted everyone to... to leave him alone. 

Haytham quickly checked his finances. No, Connor hadn't used his credit card, and the lad simply didn't carry more than forty or so dollars on his person. He must have wanted to steer clear of he and Myriam after the Skype incident.

He clung to that idea until it was shattered, a grey eye twitching. "… Alright. Myriam, first things first, calm down. Worrying won't solve anything, we've got to be clear headed. Have you any idea where he said he might go? Perhaps he deviated from his normal path or went in a different direction?" 

Calculating and cold, he prided himself in being those things. The tremor in his voice, however, was proving him to be otherwise. "Investigators will need specifics." Not that he would wait by and let them handle this. This wasn't like Connor, no matter how excitable the lad could be. He'd need to file a missing persons report, and would physically search his normal path home, even if it meant heading to New Rochelle.

He wanted his son back, no matter in what condition that may be in. His pulse quickened at the very thought.

-=-=-=-

Calming down was easier said than done. If Connor really was missing, and right now everything pointed in that direction, then she wouldn't be able to calm herself even if her own life depended on it. Connor was smart, and capable of defending himself but even at twenty-one years old he was more naive than most guys his age. It had always been a weak spot of him, something that could be easily exploited by someone with ill intentions. And he had been so upset when he left... Connor had clearly been trying not to let it show too much, but she had known him all her life; there was little to nothing he could hide from her.

Something had happened, she was sure of it, and her mind kept filling up with the most horrible scenarios as she drove towards Haytham's apartment. The police would be there, to make reports, to ask what had happened and because she had been the last person to speak or see Connor, they wanted to question her as well.

That, and she didn't want to leave Haytham to deal with this alone. He was a very tough guy and presented himself as cold and all business to the outside world, but she had caught the tremor in his voice. Ziio's death had hit him hard and that had happened not even a year ago... and everyone knew how bad he was at coping with loss. He could hide it all he wanted, but she knew that this had to be horrible for him too.

Shaun had immediately offered his help as well after she called him back and told him that yes, Connor was missing and the police would investigate, but they wouldn't sit still themselves either. They would search, visit every place they knew Connor liked or held a connection to, anything they could think of in the hope they would find a sign, some evidence that he had been there. 

Oh god, what if he was laying dead in a ditch somewhere?!

The police had already arrived when she parked in front of Haytham's apartment. Clutching her phone in one hand and a handkerchief in the other she quickly locked her car and ran up the steps, jamming her finger on the bell to let Haytham know she had arrived. Shaun was already driving around town and kept sending her updates; so far, his old house at New Rochelle could be taken off the list, the new owners hadn't seen nor heard from Connor.

-=-=-=-

The questions just keep coming. In a way, Haytham was glad. It prevented him from thinking too much.

"Was there an argument that may have prompted his departure?"

"No. Well, yes. Yes to the argument but no... no, my son wouldn't leave after something so trivial." No, he'd sooner punch Haytham in the face than disappear for days on end.

"What was the argument about?" Grey eyes flickered, and the detective elaborated. "A sensitive topic?"

"I disagreed with the... types of relationships he'd formed, physically."

"Ah. Boys will be boys." Eyes flitted to the laptop, camera still connected.

"Mm."

It was quite a turnout. Then again, he was quite the celebrity with everything happening recently. Normally, a missing persons report prompted little immediate search, but four patrol cars about to search the city- well, it wasn't as if he wasn't paying for it. Not that it helped to ease his mind.

"We're familiar with the recent incident at your corporation. Is there any chance Mr. Lee is involved?" 

Fingers clenched at the name, but his voice remained calm. "No. Lee fled, I'm certain of that. Overseas to avoid prosecution."

"Are there any other enemies of the family?" 

He didn’t know. Honestly, could there be? Yes, potentially hundreds if every little thing Haytham had ever said upset everyone. Then there were his years in arms... "I ...I am unsure. I'm not quite understanding how much provocation would be needed to potentially harm my son." Not that it was that, although he couldn't imagine what else it would be. This wasn't Connor, this wasn't an action typical of his son.

The door bell rang and he excused himself, knowing full well who it was. He hoped she'd forgive his lack of greeting. He felt rather... displaced.

"Any sign of him?" A head shake no, and he could see Myriam's eyes glisten and sighed. "Now, now. It's alright." Opening the door fully, he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, slightly less mechanically then before.

"This is Myriam, the last person to see your son?"

"Yes, Myriam, this is detective Stryker. She'll have a few questions for you..." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. "… If it's alright with the detective and yourself, I'd like to stay while they're answered."

For support, though it needn't be said. He was fond of her, and she was the only person who may be as equally distressed about his son's disappearance. A hand clutched her shoulder, eyes questioning. "Is that alright?"

-=-=-=-

She sat down meekly and nodded, wiping at her eyes once again before taking in a deep, shaky breath. Of course he could stay, she preferred that he did. She shook hands with detective Stryker and then placed it on the hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“Can you tell me about when you last saw and spoke to Connor?”

Again she nodded, though she didn't answer immediately. It was hard keeping her voice under control and she wanted to tell her story as best she could.

“He... we were at my place, working on a school project. He was Skyping on my laptop with Mr. Kenway while I was in the bathroom.” She couldn't look at Haytham as she said this, they hadn't exactly been working on their project at that moment to begin with, but the secret was safe with her. She'd take it with her to the grave.

“I missed most of the actual argument between them, and Connor wouldn't tell me what it was about. He was upset. He... he was trying to hide it, but I've known him all my life, I could tell he was. He packed his things and said he would walk around for a bit, get some fresh air, clear his head and then return home to talk it over with Mr. Kenway. He pr... promised me he wouldn't do anything stupid and... and that I'd see him at school the next day. He never showed up.”

Stryker jotted her answer down on her notepad and hummed softly before nodding. “You never tried to contact him?”

“No, I assumed he had simply called in sick because of what had happened, and that he wanted to be left alone for a while. Though... I did think it was a little weird that he never texted me about it. He usually does.”

“Hm... does he have any enemies? At school maybe?”

“No... not that I know of anyway. He's never been the most popular kid but he generally got along with most of the people in our class. Unless there was something he never told me about, but I can't even imagine that. He... he and his girlfriend broke up a while ago but he seemed to be handling that fine.”

Myriam waited as Stryker made more notes and glanced down at her lap, fingering the damp handkerchief she held in her hand.

“Did you notice any odd behavior the days before he disappeared? Anything he said or did that stood out?”

She shook her head and swallow thickly. She hadn't noticed anything... but maybe there had been signs and she simply hadn't seen them. What kind of a lousy best friend was she if that was true?

_bzzzzzzz_

Frowning she blinked and Stryker looked up from her notes. The buzzing was coming from Haytham's pocket and she watched as he pulled out his phone. Good news, hopefully!

-=-=-=-

No, Connor didn't really have enemies, they all knew that. That burden fell on Haytham.

Her touch was reassuring, as was her diligence at keeping their secret safe. He'd been acting as he normally did to both of them, then. Honestly, he couldn't fathom what would cause the disappearance. It couldn't have been because of what he had said to him... no that wasn't possible. He was starting to doubt everything out of insecurity. Surely that was it-

His phone vibrated, both Myriam and the detective giving him a look before Haytham fished it out of his pocket, peered down at the name flashing on the screen and audibly breathed out.

Connor.

"Where in hell have you been, lad? Have you any idea what you've put us through?! Myriam and I have be-"

_"Well, someone has adopted the father role. A little late, perhaps, but you have it down."_

No... his eyes widened drastically and Haytham pressed a finger to his lips, setting the phone on speaker. A horse reply of bewilderment left him. "Charles?"

 _"Very astute of you, Haytham."_

Nothing but venom, and Haytham's eyes narrowed. There was no way Charles was still in the States... which meant...

"I don't know how you managed to take him, I don't know who you hired, but I ask you this, Charles: can you pick up your teeth with broken fingers? If he's _touched_ we'll both find out."

An amused cackle, followed by the phone being taken from him, detective Stryker taking control. "Charles Lee, this is Detective Stryker from the NYPD. The whereabouts of Connor Kenway are in question. You're possession of his cell phone, how did you come to acquire it?"

_"As much as I'd love to answer that question, I can't be quite sure. Cutter, how did you gain use of Connor's phone?"_

_"Simple. I take what I want."_

Haytham hadn't felt fear in sometime. A bucket of ice water poured over him, it was the closest comparison he could make. He knew these people. He knew the shady characters Charles used to associate with before they started working together; not just thieves, not just murderers. There were things worse than murder.  
"… Whatever ransom, I'll pay it." His tone, though clipped, quivered. "I've already lost everything to you Charles, don't involve my son-"

A laugh, a mirthless laugh and a gruff reply. _"No Haytham, you lost nothing. I've lost everything because of you. Your sentimentality, your ideals... they cost me everything. My position in this world was taken by you. Everything I've done for you, unappreciated. You shoved me, your best friend, aside for some Native woman, and later her half breed bastard."_

"You stole the life of my wife and child!"

_"You still have a child left, Haytham. There's more that can be done."_

He stilled, hand gripping Myriam's shoulder tighter than he meant to. "Is he alive?" Whispered, because he had to ask. He didn't know Connor's exact location, but he knew of these... men, of Charles and his vendetta.

_”Currently, yes."_

He swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath. "I need proof. "

_"In time. Check your texts. You'll see him shortly."_

The phone clicked off, Haytham sure he'd never hear another word from it... it would be traceable then. Charles was no fool.

Silently, he let go of Myriam's shoulder, and turned his back to them all, waiting for the promised text. 

It vibrated within moments; Haytham opened it immediately and a puzzled expression flitted over his face as he read it.

"What is it?" Stryker asked, but he ignored her. It wasn't so much a text; all the message contained was a questionable looking link to a website. Seating himself at the table he grabbed his laptop and typed in the url, eying the notice of acceptance, of harsh content- it was in another language but the gist was clear. As were the pictures shown as soon as he clicked on the acceptance.

Call it the father in him, but his hand immediately went to cover Myriam's eyes, swinging the laptop around. Even detective Stryker seemed perturbed at the photos that showed on the screen, of bloodied limbs, torn skin, dead and in pain young men. And a live stream in the center, just starting up.

Even through the gritty, pixilated screen he could make out a figure, worse for wear, with his build. And that prickling fear was back no sooner than it fled.

"Connor?"

-=-=-=-

He wasn't new to beatings. He had suffered through his own fair share of them in high school. It happened. You dealt with them. You fought back.

This wasn't the same though. This wasn't a simple beating.

Connor still wasn't quite sure how it had happened; his memories after he had left Myriam's place were fuzzy and incomplete. What he did remember was the hard floor of the car and the way it jostled him whenever they passed a bump in the road or turned a sharp corner. He had lost all track of time, of how many times he had been passed from one set of hands to another, and from car to car. Where they were taking him they wouldn't tell him, whoever 'they' were, and Connor couldn't see; he was bound, gagged and blindfolded most of the time. The only times they took them off was when they gave him food and water, not much, just enough, and the gun they pressed to his head while he ate was enough to keep him from trying to escape. After he finished, the bindings were put back in place and the journey continued.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that he had been kidnapped, but by whom, or why he honestly didn't know. If this was about ransom because his father was rich, then the men that were taking him to god knows where kept quiet about it.

Surely... surely dad was already looking for him? Despite their fight and their arguments, he would have noticed he was gone and had been for at least a few days already, right? Would have called the police, have them searching for him?

Wherever he was now, their final destination, it wasn't good. It was somewhere underground and the people he saw and heard spoke a different language; Spanish or Portuguese or whatever. It was a network of caves, both natural and man-made, spanning a vast area. The whole place gave of a criminal vibe; most people he saw carried weapons, as did his guards. He had seen men and women gambling and openly use drugs here and there as they dragged him through the confusing, dimly-lit hallways upon arrival, and saw men with prostitutes in side rooms, not seeming to give a damn about their privacy or who saw. Often he heard screaming, or yelling, or cursing, and he was pretty sure most of the screams he heard were those of panic and pain.

The air in this place was thick with fear and pain. Whatever this place was, he _should not_ be here.

He had been shoved into a room that looked more like a prison cell than anything else, small and dark and smelly, with damp walls and only one flimsy mattress on the floor and a candle to keep him company. They took most of his clothes; his jacket, his shoes, leaving him only his shirt and pants before giving him some food and telling him to rest in broken English. Demanding an explanation, answers, resulted in nothing.

Of course he had spent the few hours he had been given to 'rest' trying to find a way to open the door. The walls, floor and ceiling were solid rock, no way through, and the door was bolted shut from the outside without a window or even bars to peek through.

The guards – at least Connor assumed that was what they were – came back after a few hours, again guiding him through the confusing maze of this place until he was led into a room that almost screamed 'office', strange as that was. There, he was introduced to a man who called himself Silas. He wasn't the big boss but he ran this particular place. Their organization was world wide, he explained. One of the largest. Unstoppable.

They were in the business of providing entertainment, unhindered by laws and petty morals. Of course there were rules, but they were _their_ rules. Whether it was drugs, sex or gambling that their customers desired, they would deliver... for proper payment of course.

And what was even worse, he, Connor, was to be part of the entertainment from now on. Or so Silas explained with a sick little smile. Oh, Connor shouldn't worry. He took good care of his precious merchandise as long as they kept giving him profit.  
And why him? 

Why not?

“Because you have enemies.” Silas had explained. “Or rather your father does. You can thank your friend Charles Lee for this, he made this happen. Recommended you. Didn't even want the money I was willing to pay him, as long as you were out of his hair.”

Connor's anger at that, hearing that Lee was involved, responsible for this as well, had only seemed to amuse Silas. He would need the anger to survive, apparently. “Hold onto it.” Silas had said, “Use it. And win.” before he had Connor dragged away again, on towards the room he found himself in now.

It was a pit, circular, about thirty feet in diameter with high, smooth walls that were impossible to climb, and a sandy floor. All around, sitting at tables drinking wine and looking down into the pit, were the customers and spectators Silas had mentioned. Most were men, some had scantily clad women sitting in their laps, and all looked down with interest, cheering and yelling at him and the other young man in the pit with him.

His opponent.

Clearly he wouldn't be 'providing entertainment' in the form of prostitution, for which he was more than relieved. No, instead he was to be nothing more than a dog. That's what the guards said anyway. Fighting dogs. Pit fights. To the death even, if that was what was desired by those who watched and took bets on who would win.

It was cruel. It was sick. It was inhumane. And there nothing he could fucking do about it, except deal.

Connor slowly straightened, pressing his back against the wall and carefully breathed in. That kick to the stomach had thoroughly winded him, had nearly knocked him out. The other guy he was fighting – fuck, he didn't even know his name – looked just as confused, just as freaked as he did. He didn't look like he had been here long either, but at the same time it also didn't look like this was his first fight. There was a determination in the boy's movements that clearly told he knew of what could happen to the loser.

They had been evenly matched so far. Both had gotten good punches and kicks in. Connor was hurting all over; his head _throbbed_ and the copper taste of blood was heavy in his mouth. His left shoulder flared whenever he moved it but it didn't feel broken, or even dislocated fortunately.

The 'encouragements' he was getting from the spectators above weren't helping either; some were cheering for him, others were cheering for the other guy but Connor knew he had no choice but to win this. He had seen documentaries on real dog fights on TV, he knew what happened to the losing dog.

And he would not end that way.

He blocked the next swing, quickly raising his arm to deflect it and knock the boy's fist aside. He felt something around his ankle and glanced down just in time to jump away from the foot trying to dislodge his own.

The next swing he couldn't dodge; the fist to his face knocked his head back against the wall with a crack. For a few seconds the sharp, nauseating pain in his skull threatened to overwhelm him and he struggled to keep standing. The cheers and yells around him were too loud, pounding in his head and bright stars swirled around in his vision when he opened his eyes.

This temporary moment of weakness was what saved him; the other guy, seeming to think that he had won as he watched Connor slowly slide down the wall, dropped his guard just enough for him to retaliate. Connor kicked away from the smooth stone behind him and launched himself towards the boy, knocking into his body with his entire weight hard enough to send them both tumbling onto the sandy floor of the pit.

The boy was yelling something, things in a language he couldn't understand but Connor didn't care; quickly sitting down on his chest he raised his fist and slammed it into the face beneath him, his lips pulled back into a snarl. He wouldn't lose!

He punched again, blood splattering unto his knuckles as the boy's nose broke under the force of the blow. He would not give up!

Another punch, and another one, and another. The boy was trying to push him away, hitting his shoulders, trying to buck him off and block his swings, but his struggles were quickly weakening as Connor kept up his flurry of punches. He would not succumb to Lee's sick games! He would win, and find a way out of here and make his way back home.

Back to his father. Whatever it took.

He didn't stop until he felt the body beneath him go limp. His fist halted in mid-swing and Connor gasped, slowly coming down from his rage. The boy's face was an unrecognized mess of bruises and blood, though he was still taking shallow breaths. He hadn't killed him but this... this was... this was... He glanced down at his fist, staring at the blood that covered it – a few specks had even reached his chest and face – and he quickly, suddenly scurried away from the boy as if he was burning to the touch, a horrified expression on his face.

Whatever it took, yes, but he had never known himself to be capable of such violence, beating someone like this! Doing it in a flurry of uncontrollable rage was one thing... dealing with the guilt after wards was on a whole different level... whoever that boy was, surely he had never wanted this either, but they had both been forced into this and there could only be one winner.

Connor was barely aware when the guards walked into the pit through a side door he hadn't noticed before, and dragged him onto his feet, still in a daze as he watched two other men drag the boy's unconscious body away.

He hoped they wouldn't kill him for losing...

“Not bad for your first pit fight, kid.” one of the guards sneered in a thick accent. “I think Silas is pleased. Don't you worry, we'll get you patched up before your next fight.” 

~*~

“So what do you think?”

Silas didn't answer immediately and kept his back turned to Charles, his eyes still on the monitor in front of him showing how Connor was half-carried, half-dragged out of the pit. “I think he has potential.” he answered after a long moment of silence. “He needs training, conditioning, but I think he can be shaped into a valuable fighting dog.”

“Good.”

Silas turned, an amused smile on his face and shut off the monitor. “You really dislike the kid, don't you?”

“Call it a grudge.” Charles replied and walked over to Silas' desk, picking up a piece of paper and a pen. “Without him and his bitch of a mother I wouldn't be in this mess. He should have fucking died in the car crash. Haytham would have gotten over it eventually, would have absorbed himself into his work even more than before. That is what I wanted.”

Silas just shrugged. “You can plan ahead all you want, things will never go the way you want them to go. What will you do now? I doubt you'll stay anywhere near the States now that you're wanted for murder?”

“I'm not sure yet. China maybe. Here,” Straightening he gave Silas the piece of paper. “Haytham's number and e-mail. Be sure to send him a link again whenever the boy has a fight. I want him to _watch_ these and crumble down bit by bit. I know he will... fucking family sentiment.”

“Will do.” Stuffing the paper in his pocket Silas extended his hand to shake it. “It's always pleasant doing business with you, Charles. My man over there will see you out.”

Charles simply nodded and after a quick shake he turned and left the office. Silas watched him go and turned, clasping his hands behind his back. Good business today! Good business.

-=-=-=-

Myriam could ask him what was happening all she wanted. He'd never tell. He wouldn't tell a soul if not for the necessity of investigation.

Blow after blow. Blood dotted what appeared to be silt or sand, particles whirling about with every kick or punch. A pit, a death match, a fight until there was only one left. And Haytham couldn't help himself. He wanted that survivor to be his son.

"Mr. Kenway, don't force yourself to endure this-"

"Endure?" A well placed kick and Connor went sprawling, back to the wall. "I'm spectating. My son must endure. I'd no sooner free myself from the burden, unless he's given the same opportunity."

The base instincts in his mind screamed at Connor; hit, fight, bite, maul, punch, anything to survive. Anything so he could have him back in one piece.

Adrenaline must have guided him: Connor toppled the other 'player', punch after punch landed until blood ran so thick Haytham couldn't distinguish his features. Crushed and broken, far past overkill, Connor hit until his clothes were stained, until he seemed to realize what he was doing and scrambled back again. Haytham couldn't see his face, but he knew.

Connor was terrified at what he'd done.

And the only thought Haytham had as the stream ended, as detective Stryker contacted the FBI to extend their search to international boundaries, was _'win, Connor. Win every fight until I find you.'_

It meant condemning the others he fought. He made peace with that. Anything for Connor's return.

~*~

It was all dingy walls and concrete floors flecked with sand. It wasn't there intentionally, just a side affect of the pits. Guys were dragged covered in dust, sticky with blood and sweat. Well, the lucky guys were, guys who were kept after a loss, succumbing to a week of assorted 'favors'. Once upon a time he would've blanched. 

That was another life, another time. Bare feet dragged along the corridor, calloused enough to remain unbothered by a few shard of glass here or there. Drunkards and their spirits, not that he blamed them. He was passed blame now.

There was a new arrival today, tossed into his cell. He was alone. Good. Bloodied, scratched, and bruised. Most importantly, this kid was alive.

"Rough stuff out there." When's the last time he spoke? His voice sounded hoarse. He made silence a habit. Any friends he made were long since dead. He looked over the kid briefly, blue eyes soaking in what he knew was him just a few years prior.

"You're gonna wanna treat that." He tapped his cheek, tearing at the flimsy material of his own clothing. Now where was... ah, right in the corridor. Rum. He tossed the soaked fabric the kid's way- funny, they were maybe four years apart at best, but he was a kid. You could just tell.

There was a silence between them, before he realized this kid had no idea who the fuck he was. Or why he was there. 

"I'm not used to introductions anymore." Why be courteous to the thieves, murderers and rapists? It never changed anything. "But you'll see me more often. Uh... ya got a name? " His foot scratched his shin, a nervous habit. "Callin' you that new guy with the killer right hook seems informal." 

-=-=-=-

They threw him onto the floor and Connor extended his arms out just in time to brace himself, even though he toppled onto his right side immediately after. The guards left without another word, no explanations, no orders, nothing. He was in a room of some sorts, dark and chilly, small but a bit larger than the cell they had first thrown in him, just large enough to hold two cots, and the door was left open.

And he wasn't alone.

He stared at the other man, keeping a wary eye on him. He was dark skinned like he was, with blue eyes that despite their gleam held a darkness of someone who had seen and experienced too much at a too young an age. He didn't look more than a few years older than himself.

Sitting up he caught the strip of fabric tossed at him and reached up with his other hand, not taking his eyes off the other boy, and carefully touched his cheek with a wince. He could feel the crusted on blood and the cut underneath. Ugh, that was going to bruise horribly.

“Thanks.” he muttered and pressed the cloth against the cut, grimacing as the alcohol seeped into the wound to clean it and dared to take his eyes off the other to look around. Through the open doorway he saw other people walking through the dimly lit hallway, dressed similarly as the guy who had given him this rum-soaked cloth; flimsy shirts and pants, no shoes, and in drab grey and brown colors. Most walked around with bruises in various states of healing, some had blood-specked bandages wrapped around their head or hands and others had their arms in a sling or walked with the aid of a stick or a friend. It wasn't difficult to guess who they were; other 'pit dogs', just like he was now.

Connor remained seated on the ground, not feeling up to getting up just yet and pulled the cloth away, glaring down at it before pressing it in place again. “Connor. Where are w-” He fell silent again as a shadow fell into the room and he looked up; a guard stood in the doorway holding a tray with two bowls – Connor wasn't sure if he wanted to know what was in there.

“Grub's here, ladies. Dig in.” He set the tray on the floor with a smirk, then looked at Connor. “You, new guy. You need to see the doc? Silas wants to keep his dogs in good shape, so if you have any injuries you can't fix yourself, make it clear.”

Connor remained silent and reached behind him, gently feeling the back of his head where his skull throbbed the most, but surprisingly his fingers came back with no blood. With how it had cracked against the wall of the pit earlier he had expected to see some. “I'm fine.”

“Good. Feel free to walk around the hall and talk with the other dogs, just don't try to escape. We're all watching you. You show him what this is all about, m'kay?” he added, looking at the blue-eyed kid and then left again.

Once he was gone Connor sat up straighter and craned his neck, peering into the steaming bowls; it was some kind of drab looking porridge, not particularly tasty looking but he doubted they would get anything that looked better. At least it wasn't dog food...

“So what is this place? Who are you?” he asked and leaned back, carefully leaning against one of the cots as he looked at the other man again.

-=-=-=-

"It's... home, now." Excuse his lack of delusion, he lost the idea of being saved from his hell long ago.

"Sorta seems like hell, but the dinginess sorta grows on you, like parasitic fungus." He took a swig of rum, avoiding letting the rim touch his lips and looked over whatever gruel they'd created for him. "Uh, I'm pit dog number four. But, if ya wanna, ya can call me Kadar." He hadn't heard that in a while... his name in someone else's voice. "I was brought here after a friend botched a military mission. That was three years ago." He settled down, leaning against the cot, offering the bottle before starting to eat. Mm, plaster and drywall. It might as well be that.

"What brings you here? Ya gotta have made some damn enemies to land yourself here." A look up and down and Kadar frowned. "Ya don't look old enough to be a threat to business, no offense." That's why he was taken, after all. Getting involved wayyyy over his damn head. No thanks to Altair, but he'd forgiven the dolt long ago.

"Ya might wanna drink, before eating. Hard to swallow, ya know?" He almost relaxed, as odd as it sounded. This was home now, he'd never make it out alive. Escaping simply wasn't possible. He would know. He'd failed twice.

-=-=-=-

Home? Connor scrunched his eyebrows together; how fucked up was he to call this shit hole home? Three years, jesus... how had he survived for that long? Surely there was no way he could have won every single fight over the span of three years?

Connor accepted the bottle and sniffed it, making a face at the strong smell of alcohol; strong stuff clearly... but Kadar was right. This all might be easier to handle if he was too plastered to even give a fuck.  
“My father has enemies.” he explained and tipped his head back, the mouth of the bottle against his lips, but one swallow was already enough for him to lower it, coughing sharply as the rum burned its way down his throat.  
“None taken.” he wheezed and handed the bottle back. “My father is the big brain behind Kenway Corporation. His right hand man – or at least he used to be – had an issue with me and my mom coming into dad's life after twenty years of no contact. Nearly a year ago Lee ambushed us on the road between New York and Boston, causing a car crash. I survived but my mom died. I assume that this is Lee's second attempt to get rid of me. I don't know. All I know is that he was involved in this.”

He shrugged and grabbed one of the bowls, prodding the porridge inside with a wooden spoon – this stuff really did not look edible. It looked like someone had simply barfed into this thing instead of scooping it out of a cooking pot. At least he _hoped_ it had been scooped out of a cooking pot.

“I'm not too worried yet. I know that he will do everything in his power to find me. He has enough money to get the whole army to work on it if he so chooses. He'll come.” He would... even after their fight, Haytham would find him. He wouldn't accept another outcome.

“How did you survive for three years? You must either be very good or very lucky. Any tips? Things I should know?”

-=-=-=-

"Kenway Corp, huh? " Something he actually heard off. He would have whistled some years ago, impressed. Instead he frowned at Connor. "That's some wishful thinking. It's... kinda hard to locate us, ya know?" Even if the guy was a millionaire, locating them? Putting a stop to Silas? It just wasn't plausible.

"My advice to you... win." He couldn't have been anymore serious, eyes locking with Connor's. "Fight tooth and nail. Give it your all every time. And don't ever loose." A guard knocked, and nothing else needed to be said. Kadar stood immediately. He did however give Connor a once over. "… If you do loose, if you find yourself facing... death... don't beg." He leaned back over, meeting Connor at eye level. "Don't give them the satisfaction. You're... attractive enough. They'd have another use for you. If ya beg-"

He couldn't finish the sentence with the guard knocking again, giving Connor a clap on the shoulder. "Do what you have to do. No one's judging you here. Survival is everything. Pride ain't worth a fuck in the pits." He left, calling over his shoulder.

"Try to stay alive. You're pretty nice company."

-=-=-=-

Connor took Kadar's advice to heart. He was the expert, he had survived for three years, his words were to be trusted.  
He took his place on one of the cots, fingering the flimsy blanket and tried not to let the panic overwhelm him. It would do him no good here. Clearly, showing such blatant weakness was something that could get you killed in this place.

The strong lived. The weak died.

None of the other dogs attempted to make a conversation with him; most, if not all of them, seemed silent, constantly brooding and preparing for their next fight. There was still so little he knew about this place and it's inner workings. He'd have to ask Kadar more questions. Was he even in the States anymore? Connor doubted it. While the dogs seemed to be a mixture of every race, most of the guards spoke in what he had come to recognize as Portuguese when they weren't dealing with them. At least he hadn't been taken overseas but it was a safe bet to assume that New York was far, _far_ away.

Kadar did not return for hours. There was no daylight in this place, and no clocks; it was impossible to keep track of time, but it sure felt like hours had passed. And when Kadar finally did return, flanked on either side by guards, he looked worse for wear, bloodied, bruised and bandaged.

But alive, and that was what mattered. They had only just met, but Connor already knew that having a friend in this hell could be key to keeping his sanity, and he had to keep his sanity until Haytham found him.  
As soon as the guards left Kadar to fend for himself, Connor swiftly stood up to support him, helping him to his cot. By the looks of things Kadar had paid this doctor who had been mentioned before a visit, as all his immediate injuries seemed to have been treated... but Connor could see that it had been quite a fight.

He didn't bother to ask what had happened to his opponent, fearing the worst.

“Here, I saved this. You need it more than I do, plus... I'm really not much of a drinker.” Giving Kadar the half-filled bottle of rum he walked over to the other cot and grabbed it firmly, pulling it over the ground towards the other one until they pressed together.  
If Kadar minded the idea he made no mention of it, for which Connor was silently relieved. Surely he couldn't be blamed for searching for every bit of comfort he could get, especially if he could help someone else in return?

Besides, these caves were cold and the blankets thin... sharing their body heat would help them get through the nights ahead.

~*~

Days passed like this. The guards came by a few times a day, to collect dogs and prepare them for fights, but they left him and Kadar alone. Food and water was brought once a day, and while it was the same disgusting drab from before Connor could care any less. He was hungry enough to not even be bothered by the taste anymore.

They passed the time by talking, telling about their lives and family before it had all gone to hell. It helped, Connor found, keeping a constant reminder of dad and Myriam and William. Or even just talking about silly little things, the things that one would normally take for granted. Connor now understood what people meant with 'you don't know what you've lost until you loose it'.  
It seemed to help Kadar as well, just having someone to talk to. Even if it was just a little bit; Connor wasn't so foolish as to think that a few days of providing an ear to listen would undo three years of abuse and trauma, but every little bit helped, right?

Especially in this environment. Everyone was in a constant state of stress and tension; so much, it was almost tangible in the air. No one smiled, no one joked, no one laughed. Everyone walked around with an angry scowl on their faces, or with a depressed grimace, dragging themselves through the day and nursing their wounds in silence. There was nothing to do around here, nothing to pass the time with, except wait... wait for the guards to collect them, and wonder if the next fight was going to be their last.

The first few nights were definitely the worst. The cells were cold and the blankets too thin. Every once in a while someone would start to cry, and sometimes he heard screams. Last night the guards had stormed their cell block after one of the pit dogs had lost it; screaming and yelling and trying to pick fights. Connor hadn't left his cell to see what was going on but he had listened as the guards subdued the pit dog. There had been a scuffle, and lots of screaming and yelling in different language, until... Connor could still hear the loud bang of a pistol echoing through the cave, followed by the abrupt stop of the pit dog's yells and the sound of his body slumping on the floor.  
Connor had looked away when the guards passed his cell again, dragging the body with them. No one had bothered to clean up the blood... you could still see where the boy had collapsed and how he had been dragged away. Connor counted himself extremely lucky that he had found someone willing to keep him company. Without Kadar here... he would go insane.

~*~

They came for him after what he assumed was roughly a week since he had been taken that night. Two guards swarmed the small room he shared with Kadar, roughly pulling him out of the bed he slept in. He didn't even get the chance to say something to Kadar before they dragged him out, hauling him through the hallways. Already he could feel the panic bubbling in his gut but he tried to force it down, remembering Kadar's words.

Win. _Win!_

He was taken into a small side room and promptly told to strip. He was still wearing the clothes he had worn on the day he had left Myriam's house, and while they were smelly and disgusting and flecked with old, dried blood, he still balked at the order. 

The threat that they would cut the clothes off his body instead then was effective though, so Connor did as he was told; he had barely dropped the last article on the dirty ground before one of the guards dumped a bucket of cold water over his head; he yelped before he could stop it and backed away, shivering violently as he rubbed the water out of his eyes. Something was pushed into his hands, a rag to dry himself with and a bundle of clothes, the same kind of clothing the other dogs wore, and the guards left with the order to be ready in under two minutes.

He was still shivering by the time he emerged, wearing the coarse but thankfully clean clothes as cold drops of water trickled down from his hair along his spine. The guards took his arms and marched him through the hallways, and Connor desperately tried to ignore the hoots and cheers as they passed other people, that he would be dead meat soon, that they had bet money on how he would die.

He soon found himself in the Pit and the guards left him in the center; he was alone, whoever his opponent was, he hadn't arrived yet, but that wasn't what held his interest right now. It were the various objects lined up along the smooth wall of the Pit, varying from old chairs to wooden baseball bats to shovels and more. He could only guess what they would be used for, but surely they weren't here to function in the way they were meant to.

Fists and kicks got boring to watch after a while after all. Realizing that, it took everything he had not to succumb to his panic.

He turned as he heard voices behind him, trying to keep his face blank and let his eyes fall on the man who stepped into the pit, one guard closing the door behind him. His opponent was here.

-=-=-=-

Hours turned to days, and the days blurred. How many cups of coffee had he drank? How little sleep had they gotten? Myriam laid across the couch, asleep under what was a plush blanket; she'd stayed. Quite frankly, he didn't mind in the least. Her presence was a comfort, even if they barely spoke out of sheer anxiety.

"Here." Cup of coffee number... he lost count. He didn't know. And blue eyes lacked their spark, a hand cupping his shoulder. "C'mon, drink up, Haytham. If you're not going to sleep, you might as well stay alert."

"Thanks William." Hoarse, eyes glued to the laptop, there was little he could do. No word from Lee, no texts, no e-mails, nothing. Connor's phone had died, going straight to voice mail. Investigators at both Haytham and William's insistence wasted no time searching, but it did little good. They needed a live feed to map Connor's location, and while video's were streamed, they were done so from various countries, the victims speaking numerous languages and the settings changing. No, this was a large underground operation, one that operated in secrecy. Without a feed from Connor, they couldn't track a damn thing.

And his mind stayed on Connor, always. He hadn't seen the inside of his office since he had disappeared; not that William would allow it- he hadn't left the living room save to use the bathroom and to visit Connor's room. He kept the door closed when he did so. His cologne lingered on the pillows still.

"Any word?" 

A negative nod, and Haytham sighed as William seated himself by his side. "We'll do whatever it takes, Haytham. Your son will be returned to you, in one piece. I promise." Losing his wife, his child, now his... well, Connor was a bit of both now, wasn't he? It was clear Haytham had developed feelings. Intentional or not, it had happened, and there was no stopping it. They'd been through too much to let something off cuff, something that didn't hurt anyone get in the way of their friendship.

Haytham failed to respond, though he did jump as his phone suddenly vibrated. He nearly knocked it off the table in his haste to grab it and checked the text, coming from an unknown number.

A website link, the same one. And a message.

_You'll wish to see this, Mr. Kenway._

It wasn't Charles texting him, that was certain. Refreshing the web page, he gave the phone to William. "Call detective Stryker, make sure the tap is in place." No doubt the phone was a disposable one, but the location may be the same. The streaming started, William doing as Haytham asked, peering at the screen as he did.

Sure enough, there he was. Worse for wear, thinner, but alive. "There's hope, Haytham. The tap is at the ready. They maybe able to track him yet."

Haytham could but stare at the screen, head tilting as Connor's opponent walked into view. William stared as well, puzzled. "What?"

"… Perhaps, it's my age, but... I swear I know him. That guy, I'd swear that was that mad, murdering bastard we'd known back in our military days. A sadist if I ever knew him." 

Squinting, William took another look, eyes widening. "Oh _fuck._ "

"So, I was right." Through the grain and dull colors, the stance held no lie, the snarling mouth of Connor's opponent sparking a fear within Haytham. Simply because, Connor had to win.

And he wouldn't. Not against _him._

~*~

Damn, and he was comfortable for a change. Blinking blearily, Kadar roused, woken up by the commotion of the guards dragging Connor away. There was nothing he could do to help, but he could go over there and watch, and help him out after wards, offer some comfort, help with his wounds. Over the week, the kid had become somewhat of a buddy. Connor was a tough guy, sure, but there were stronger men, less naive men. Granted it was nice having someone less jaded as a bunk mate, but he was naive; they wouldn't be found, there was no help now. Survival was the only thing to strive for.

He waited for nearly five minutes before Connor arrived, watching from the side as he staggered into the Pit, shaking. And his opponent came in stride, in with swagger, and Kadar looked to his face-

And his blood went cold.

"No..." No, no... what in the hell?! This wasn't a fight, it would be a fucking blood bath! Connor was strong sure, but not experienced!

"Connor!" He shrieked, knowing full well he'd be pulled away by the guards and not giving a shit. "Don't beg! No matter what you do, no matter what he does, no matter how bad it hurts, grit your teeth and bare it or he'll ki-"

A fist collided with his skull, and he staggered, both arms gripped before he was dragged away, one eye shutting at the pour of blood straight into his eye. Connor would live, worse for wear but he'd live... if he kept his mouth shut.

He'd lost only a handful of times, four of which were to that bastard before him. And it always ended with a part of him that shouldn't be aching so painfully afterwards. That bastard must have liked what he saw, to offer himself as Connor's opponent...

 _'Cutter.'_ His final thought as he was thrown into his cell, sprawled across the floor. _'You fucking bastard.'_

-=-=-=-

Connor's head shot up, eyes roaming along the faces of the spectators peering down into the Pit, trying to pinpoint where Kadar was. He couldn't see him, and the way his words suddenly cut off told Connor that his friend had most likely already been dragged away already.

But Kadar wouldn't have warned him for no reason, he thought as he turned to face Cutter again, who stood with his hands loosely clasped behind his back and wearing an amused smile.

“I 'ave your attention now, boy-o?” he asked, but Connor didn't bother answering. He didn't know this man but he had seen him in Silas' office before and from what he understood, this guy was one of the higher-ups. 

So what was he doing here facing him in the Pit?

“Your previous fight,” Cutter continued and he stepped forward. Connor remained in place, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, tense; he didn't dare to take his eyes off the man. “-was more or less an introduction. We pitted you against someone easy, to get a good look at what yer capable of. Today however, will be to teach you somethin',”

It took every bit of Connor's self control not to move away as Cutter leaned closer to whisper in his ear, soft enough so that the cameras streaming the event couldn't pick up his voice. “namely what will happen to ya if you loose. Death is only the easy way out.”

He stepped back again and Connor resisted a shudder, keeping a glare on his face as his eyes followed Cutter's movements. So this wouldn't be a fight to the death then? At least, so long as he didn't beg, because if he did Cutter would still kill him? Loose or die?

Great... just fucking great. He was confident in his abilities but a lot of the guys here seemed like seasoned fighters, and this guy did as well. There was experience in his eyes, and a cruelty that quite honestly terrified him to the core.

Kadar had told him to win, but Connor was no longer sure if he could.

“I want to see anger, kid.” Cutter continued as he circled him. “I want to see rage. I want to see you give it all, to hold nothing back. These fine people watching us deserve a good show, as that is what they pay for. Wouldn't want to let them down now, would ya? And if you need help, I'll be all too happy to give it.” Cutter stopped two feet in front of Connor and straightened, smirking down at him. He knew just what to say to send to boy into a fit of rage.

“That night, a year or so ago... I'm sure you know which one I mean.” And sure enough Connor visibly stiffened. “Lee was behind the wheel, as you probably know, but he wasn't doing the shootin'.” It was there, growing within the boy. Connor began to tremble, not out of fear this time, but out of rage as the pieces fell together, just like he wanted. Cutter leaned forward slightly and pulled his lips back into a cruel sneer. “I held the gun and fired that shot that killed your bitch of a mother.”

He wasn't given more time to add insult to injury, those last words were enough to send Connor over the edge; he jumped forward with a cry of rage laced with emotional anguish and swung his fist forward towards his face. 

Cutter just smiled... the boy still had a lot to learn; angry people always left themselves wide open.

-=-=-=-

Haytham couldn't hear the words exchanged, he couldn't make out what was truly happening. Connor's expression remained his sole indicator, rapidly changing from fear to rage, an unbridled rage that left him shaking. Granted he had a temper, but he typically remained calm. Whatever Cutter said had struck a chord, and before he could blink Connor lunged, much to Haytham's dismay.

"No, Connor-"

"Oh Jesus."

Two pairs of eyes watched as he lunged, open, vulnerable. Cutter took the opening with ease, as expected. William blanched, a hiss leaving his teeth as the blow came. Haytham said nothing, a lump forming in his throat as Cutter hit him, hard, directly in the stomach, with enough force to take the breath from him.

This would not end well. His pulse thudded, knuckles white as Connor staggered, before rising to his feet again. No time to recover, Cutter hit him again. A right, a left, and another right and Connor staggered again. Cutter calmly motioned toward him, a grin nothing sort of demonic lacing his features. Connor was outmatched, out-experienced. In the middle of a fight for his _life._

And Haytham could do nothing but watch, powerless to help. A trail of nail marks embedded the wood of his table, grey eyes glued to the screen.

This would be his son's end. And he'd watch the final moments, the taste of failure bitter on his tongue.

~*~

He laughed because he could, the boy staggering by his feet. "You must have inherited your fighting skill from your cunt mother." Rage again, although he didn't attack; the boy was wary now. Cutters grin was wide and ferocious. Such an easy target, so easily manipulated. Connor had backed himself into the area that held weaponry, Cutter smirking at the thought.

"Plan to hit me with something?" A chair, to be precise, where as Cutter chose a simple wooden bat. "Come to avenge your bitch mother? If only you fought more like your bastard father, boy. Maybe then this would be interesting."

A delirious, desperate swing and Cutter dodged the first blow. He didn't calculate the back swing correctly, the leg of the chair splitting his lip, blood flowing a quick river of droplets. He almost smiled, the bat clutched in a death grip. Play time was over.

It took another two swings before Cutter slammed the bat into Connor's fingers, forcing him to drop the chair and giving him time to strike. He swung, striking Connor across the temple; the wooden bat would've splintered under more force. But this wasn't a death match, was it? A smile tugged at his lips as he watched the boy stumble back, nearly delirious with pain, a trickle of thick blood falling down his face and into one eye as he almost lost his balance.

"C'mon lad, what happened to a show?" Licking his split lip, Cutter abandoned the bat in favor of his own fists. It was hardly a match with the kid so dazed, but he had a point to make.

His fist met little resistance, Connor stumbling out of reach but not by much. He traded the blow with a kick, Connor blocking and trying his own luck with a punch to the chin. He missed, just barely, blood covering half his face from the busted capillaries. Sneering, Cutter swept his foot under Connor's and yanked, toppling his balance and swiftly planting him to the floor. Connor fell down on his back with a grunt and Cutter quickly sat atop his chest and pulled his fist back.

"You. are. a. sniveling. little. cunt. of. your. mothers!" Every word was accentuated with a punch, Cutters fists flying back and landing in Connor's closed eye, blackening and swelling it shut before hooking to break his nose. Three tries, and blood poured from his face in a gush, the crack of cartilage under his skin a gratifying grind. Blood dotted his shirt, his own fists covered, and the wound reopened on Connor's cheek. He struggled, tried to buck him off but there was little he could do to stop the flurry of punches. Bruises would blossom, aches and pains would be abundant but it wasn't just about that, oh no.

Removing himself Cutter picked up the discarded bat again as Connor lay trembling and bleeding in the sand, and resumed a tirade across the boy's body to the excited yells of the spectators. They drowned out the boy's cries and yells of pain as he made desperate attempts to curl up to protect himself from the blows raining down on him. Across his legs, his chest, but especially his stomach, until the bat finally splintered under the abuse. Staring down at the splintered end Cutter huffed and knelt down, pressing the sharp edge against Connor's chest, right above his heart.

"Too easy, boy-o. A sneer, and he leaned in close, close enough to whisper in his ear." Is the rest of you that easy, hmm? I wonder..."

~*~

No, no... no, no.

The feed had been traced to Brazil but the whereabouts were largely unknown, William scrambling on the phone as Haytham paced, watching with wide eyes. No... no as Connor took the first blow, no to the bat to his head, to his son, his boy falling backward and Cutter... that fuck. Jumping on him, beating him, drawing blood from of his boy. His son. His Connor.

Rage. All he felt was rage. Rage that he couldn't find his son and protect him, keep him safe; rage that these _people_ if they were to be addressed as such would do this to him; rage that he couldn't stop it. So much hatred, anger...

And it fled him, the moment the broken bat end pressed to his son's chest.

"No. No, no, no, no." A bloodbath, a bloody fucking bloodbath. Connor's face, the very same one responsible for snide looks, a casual smile, and forever rolling eyes. Now battered and broken. His body as well, limp under the abuse.

Cutter pressed the bat closer, tighter, and Haytham lost his footing as his legs simply buckled under him. Eyes remained on the scream as strength left him, and he crumbled to his knees. His last words to his son were accusations of him being a _whore._ Not words of affection, or even a see you later... he'd more or less called him a whore.

Connor would never know what he felt. His mounting affections. He'd die believing his father didn't care.

"Please no." The burn behind his eyes, the scald of failure, failure to once again protect what was his. Not this, not this... torture him, beat him, make him beg for mercy, but don't kill him. Haytham could put back the pieces later, if only they let him _live._ Anything but death. Anything but departing with their final words in mind.

Anything but this.

-=-=-=-

The commotion around her woke her up. Myriam blinked slowly, still a little dazed with sleep; she had barely gotten any this last week. Most of her time was spent here at Haytham's apartment, to keep him company and also because she didn't want to be alone. If anything happened, if there was any news about Connor's whereabouts Haytham would be the first to know and she wanted to be here when that happened.

But days had gone by without a sign nor a message and it was beginning to take a toll on them all. This... this not-knowing, the waiting, was slowly consuming them from the inside.

Connor's disappearance was all over the news. There was a big reward for anyone who knew anything or had seen anything, but so far no one had come forth. The police feared that Connor had fallen into the hands of a large criminal organization, one that was well hidden, professional and wide-spread. The strange thing was, they hadn't demanded ransom money for him, no sign that they were willing to give him back. He could be anywhere. And there was no way to trace his location unless with another broadcast. 

And it looked like that was what was happening right now. Myriam sat up slowly, taking in the scene in front of her; William and Haytham stood behind the kitchen table, both staring at the laptop with horrified expressions. William was softly talking on the phone, she guessed it was detective Stryker he was talking to. His face was pale and his hands were trembling, but Haytham looked even worse.

“M-mr. Johnson?” she whispered as she slipped off the couch and William looked up. “What... is it Connor?”

William frowned and quickly put the phone down with an apology as Myriam made her way over to the kitchen table, eyes on the back of the laptop, but he stopped her before she could walk around it and get a look at the screen. “No Myriam, you don't want to see this.”

“What's happening to Connor? What are they doing to him?” She didn't put up much of a struggle as William gently but firmly coaxed her away from the table and into a chair; she was already trembling, already crying. She had been told some of what was going on, what they were putting Connor through; no details of course and they wouldn't let her see, but she knew the gist of it.

“He's somewhere in Brazil,” William explained after he pushed a mug of steaming coffee into her hands. “but they don't have an exact location yet. We'll find him though. We'll find him...” They had to. They had to reunite Haytham with his son.

The sudden commotion behind him had William turn around again and Myriam look up, and cursed as he saw that Haytham had crumbled down onto his knees, wide eyes staring at the screen horrified. He had never seen Haytham look this terrified before and that alone was already enough to scare him. Haytham simply did not look terrified, yet here he was, holding a death grip on the table as he watched the screen of the laptop.

He quickly left Myriam's side and rushed around the table, planning on telling Haytham to keep it together, to stay strong, to have faith that things would turn out alright in the end... but one look at the screen told William enough. Connor was flat on his back, bloodied and unmoving, already looking more dead than alive with Cutter sitting next to him and pressing the sharp, broken end of a baseball bat against his ribs.

Gritting his teeth he reached out and placed his hand on Haytham's shoulder; there was little he could do, but if this was to be Connor's end, then he wouldn't make Haytham watch this alone.

~*~

It felt like he was watching everyone through a haze of thick mist and rain, or a glazed over window perhaps. Everything seemed far away. He heard the spectators cheer and yell but it all seemed to be coming from a distance, blurring together. Even the pain, which he knew was horrible, seemed to be... further away.

He had barely been able to get a blow in. Cutter had anticipated his every move, had used his own strength against him. He wasn't a bad fighter but Cutter was so much better and more experienced. It was like pitting a full grown grizzly bear against a puppy, as much as he hated to refer to himself as such, but it was true. He had been completely outmatched in every sense of the word.

He hadn't stood a chance.

Someone patted his cheek and Connor blinked a few times, his blurry vision slowly coming back into focus. The world cleared up, the commotion around him becoming louder, and with it, the pain returned back to the forefront as well. If he could have moved properly he would have curled up in sheer agony by now; everything hurt, everything throbbed, and his breathing came with wet, shallow gasps. Cutter was sitting next to him and tsked.

“Thought I was losing you there for a second. Can't have you die on me just yet, boy-o. We're not done yet.” Connor coughed, blood bubbling up in his mouth as his body tensed in pain, and he managed to turn his head enough so that the thick red liquid simply dribbled down the corner of his mouth to soak into the sand.

“If you can't handle a beating like this you're not goin' ta last long in 'ere.” Cutter mused and reached out, grabbing Connor's chin to turn his face back to his, and smiled. “What's this? Tears already? You know Connor, I know yer dad from our days back in the military. He was a total asshole but I can say this about him; I've _never_ seen 'im cry. You sure he's your dad? Hard to imagine that he would produce such weak offspring.” He shrugged. “Then again, not his fault he has bad genes, eh? Especially not when mixed up with some Native bitch.”

Connor glared up at him, fury in his eyes and his hand twitched, slowly curling into a fist, but he simply did not have the strength to even lift it. His body wouldn't listen to his commands and Cutter knew it.

“Are you not gonna beg?” he sneered as he leaned forward, putting more of his weight on the broken end of the bat pressing against Connor's chest, hearing him wheeze and strain to breathe underneath him. “Beg for your worthless life to be spared? That's the smart thing to do, ya know. That's what most d-”

His answer was a thick wad that was more blood than saliva between his eyes, slowly dribbling down his face. Connor gritted his teeth. He wouldn't beg, he would _never_ beg. Not only because Kadar had said he shouldn't, but because he meant to live through this, so he could get out of here and return to his father. Where he belonged.

-=-=-=-

"You uppity little _fuck!_ " His backhand was anything but light, the smear of saliva and blood spreading across Connor's battered face. "You're lucky Silas wants you alive, boy-o." Calloused hands tapped a bruised cheek, his grin morphing into a sneer. "Lucky for me, you're a young'in. It always makes this process easier."

Tearing the thin material of his pants was almost easy, though Connor did begin to struggle as it dawned on him what Cutter planned to do. Eyes dazed and bleary, hands pushed in vein, trying to shove him away. It was so pathetic it was almost funny. Cutter did have a laugh, thoroughly amused.

"What's the matter, boy? Protectin' your virginity?" He forced legs apart, snarling as one kicked out, narrowly missing his groin.

His fist collided with Connor's stomach, in the same place where had already hit him with the bat a few times before. He laughed as Connor wheezed, coughing blood into the sand. His face would lie in it.

"You're getting the arena dirty, lad, and for what? You're a bitch, so you're gettin' the bitch treatment." Shoving him onto his stomach, he listened to Connor sputter, doubtlessly coughing, naked tan skin out in the open. "Now boy-o, it's just you an' me. And a few hundred people in this arena, watchin' you." A calloused hand swatted his bare ass, hard enough to bruise. Cutter welcomed the cheers of the crowd, raising his arms.

"This is wha' 'appens when you loose." He struggling continued, legs trying to kick out, Connor attempting to roll over, but Cutter had had enough.

Grabbing a fistful of black hair, he slammed Connor's head downward, once, then twice, watching the boy's eyes close and re-open, unfocused. "You gonna cry, you half-blooded cunt?" He spat into his hand. Pushing Connor's face into the bloodied sand Cutter wrapped his arm around his abdomen and pulled him up until his ass was in the air, and then reached down to fumble with the zipper of his pants. Even now Connor resisted, attempting to struggle against him, to move away. 

Cutter laughed, reaching out to wipe the tears from the ends of Connor's eyes and licked them off his fingers. "It's just sex, boy. Humiliating, exposing sexxxxx." The final word rolled out in a hiss and he wasted no more time; aligning himself he pressed forward, ignoring the panicked gasps coming from Connor, and slammed his hips forward as soon as his head was in, driving himself home. He groaned loudly as Connor tensed in pain and desperately clawed at the sand, and grinned, his grip tight, moving from his hair to the back of his neck. "Tight little bitch... but not too tight. You were a bitch fo' another, weren't you?" Hips slammed with the cheers of the crowd, the pace brutal, unforgiving, and merciless, Cutter dug his nails into Connor's neck, smothering his face along the ground.

"Wonder what they would say, boy, if they could see you now."

~*~

He had dropped the bat. Haytham blinked, wishing he could hear the words exchanged between the two, and Connor launched a was of spit into Cutter's face. Foolish lad, was he trying to get himself killed? Though, there was a sense of ease... there was fight left in him.

No, they weren't killing him but... he swallowed thickly, hard, William's fingers around his shoulder clenching as Connors pants were torn in two, body flipped over. He struggled still, even after all the injuries he had sustained, the beating he had suffered through...

"Haytham.."

"I'm not moving. I am not looking away."

William hung his head, ashamed. "I-I can't watch this."

"I wouldn't expect you to." Fingers covered his friend's, briefly, a fleeting and surprisingly gentle touch. "Comfort Myriam, she needs it, poor girl." 

There was no sense in trying to talk Haytham out of it, William knew the logic. Connor couldn't leave the situation, couldn't back away... so neither would Haytham.

And while Haytham filled with dread, while his nails tore his hands at the entry, while he became nauseated at the crowd's cheers, he kept watch.

He could fix this. He could piece Connor together again. He would take him to therapy, would sleep in his damn room if he had nightmares. The point was, he'd live. He'd survive. Haytham still had time.

And he'd find him before this happened again. It was not over.

-=-=-=-

He tried to fight back. He tried, he truly did, despite his injuries and despite the pain he was in, but every time he tried to force Cutter away from him he was simply beaten down again, with a backhand to the face or a fist to the stomach

He couldn't stop this from happening, no matter how hard he tried.

Connor wheezed into the sand, his eyes wrenched shut as Cutter took his position behind him. Hands on his hips he steeled himself for what was about to come, struggling on relaxing his body as much as possible, to minimize the risk of damage and bleeding, to make it hurt just a bit less. It helped that this wasn't his first tumble; first time getting raped, yes, but not the first time being on the receiving end of rough sex.

Of course, it couldn't compare. Haytham, while rough with him, never truly hurt him on purpose, and despite preferring his own saliva over lube for whatever reason Connor hadn't figured out yet, at least his father usually took his time preparing him for penetration, and made sure that he enjoyed it too.

No such thing now though. The first press of a blunt cockhead against his entrance wasn't even that bad yet, just an uncomfortable pressure... until it popped through and Cutter pushed forward hard, shoving over half of himself inside; there was no scream, but only because Connor simply didn't have the breath to spare to be loud.

There was no point in struggling anymore. Cutter had him now, and any movements on his part would only enhance Cutter's pleasure. The worse thing of this wasn't even the physical rape; it burned horribly, like his body was slowly being pulled in two, but he was already in so much pain it barely added to it. No, it was the fact that hundreds of anonymous faces were watching this happen, cheering Cutter on to be faster, to go harder, and getting off on watching him get beaten and raped into a bloody pulp. Connor didn't know them, but it was possible they knew who he was, and even if they didn't, that didn't make it any less humiliating. Like he was worth nothing... and he probably wasn't, to them. He was just entertainment. 

"Wonder what they would say, boy, if they could see you now."

Connor stayed quiet, not even knowing how to answer that. What would dad say? None of this, none of what was happening now was Connor's fault; he had never asked for any of this to happen, but perhaps he could have prevented this if he had fought harder, had put up more of a struggle. Weak.  
And Haytham... the last words they had exchanged, Haytham had referred to him as a slut. He hadn't said it outright, but his words had implied it well enough.  
And here he was, not even fighting this anymore, letting it happen... proving his father's point.

He wouldn't cry out loud and he wouldn't scream, just like he wouldn't beg... but there was no way he could stop the tears or completely swallow the pained whimpers and grunts as he sank his teeth into his own arm in a desperate attempt to stay quiet. He would endure this, deal with it, let it happen and move on, but he couldn't pretend that this wasn't affecting him. He couldn't lie to himself that way.

But at least he'd be alive.

-=-=-=-

Cheering, the crowd prompted his movements; harder, faster, punish him. And that he would. Not overly tight, but a good enough fuck. A little blood eased his way, Cutter holding nothing back as he slammed relentlessly, putting on a show for the crowd and Haytham alike. Let the bastard watch as he raped his son and used him as a cum rag.

Speaking if the little cum rag... beyond soft whimpering and the pathetic tears he wasn't doing much. Just laying there and taking him.

"A slut like you're mother too, boy? It must run through the savage blood." He neared completion, frowning, and still he couldn't get a response from Connor. That wouldn't do.

He pulled out, standing abruptly and nudged his foot under Connor to flip him onto his back again. the audience initially booed until he sat on Connor's chest, listening to him wheeze as he plopped his weight downward.

"Swallow. We all know you do." No response, and one hand fisted himself while the other grabbed Connor by the hair, plummeting his weight down once more.  
Taking advantage of his cough, Cutter held his head in place and with two pumps ejaculated, spurting along Connor's mutilated face. The boy tried to move away, but he couldn't prevent some of it landing in his mouth, a horrible bitter taste. More of it squirted into his eyes and the cheering returned. Cutter stood up and walked around the ring after dropping Connor's head, parading around and taking in the hoots and cheers he was receiving, just for a moment before the urge came. As it always did.

"It's been a joy, Connor." Smirking, he stood above Connor, taking aim for his face as the first stream of urine left him. He sputtered, and Cutter laughed, trailing his cock along his body, wetting his entire torso and face before kneeling down to wipe his cock on Connor's discarded pants, throwing them at his face.  
"I always mark my territory, my lil' sluts." A wave of his hand and a few men came, dragging Connor away. Cutter looked in the direction of a camera, and cheerfully waved.

He could always put on a show.

~*~

Cutter was a dead man.

No matter how much he spent, the time it took, he'd have his dick in a jar, and would show it to Connor every night before he slept to ensure him that this would not happen again.

The feed ended with Connor getting dragged away, and Haytham took a moment to gather himself, exhaling. They needed to get his son, and quickly. This could not continue! Connor would not survive another round like that!

He entered the living room with his hands behind his back, stride and a sense of order returning to him. "Did they locate him?"

"Yes and no." William frowned, staring at his phone, a hand clasping Myriam's shoulder. "Brazil. He's somewhere in Brazil. The problem is, the location isn't mappable geographically."

"How's that now?"

Eyes flickered, staring into Haytham's. "He's underground somewhere." And while they narrowed it down to Brazil, the fact remained that Brazil was huge, roughly a third of South America if not more. Finding a secret underground den in that expanse of land would be damn near impossible. But they'd made it this far... no sense to give up hope now.

"The investigation will head there... as will we, I presume?"

"Oh yes, and Myriam you're welcome to join." Haytham offered a smile, a false one, but a smile no less. He'd have his son back in his arms, alive. He would be the first face he saw and hopefully realize that despite their difference- as numerous as they were- Haytham's affections for him had surpassed a mere fondness.

He excused himself, moving to pack his bags. To Brazil then.

-=-=-=-

Underground? How could he be underground? 

Myriam stood up slowly and nodded. Of course she'd come! There was little she'd be able to do but once Connor was found, she could be there for him. “I'm coming.” Wiping his eyes with her hands she took a deep breath and cleared her throat. No more crying! She'd done enough crying, now was the time to act. They knew more now, they had a general location on Connor, hope wasn't lost yet.

She and William both hastily left for their own homes to pack. They'd be on a private jet towards Brazil before evening fell.

~*~

Connor was a little more awake by the time he was thrown into the room he shared with Kadar. After Cutter had finished with him the guards had dragged him to who he supposed was the doctor, clinging to consciousness and nearly delirious with pain.

The doctor, an older fellow, didn't seem at all disturbed by the state he was in – it was probable he had seen much worse already – but at least he was gentle. Connor was half out of it during the time spent on the table as the doctor used a wet rag to remove all traces of urine, semen and blood. His injuries were disinfected and treated, salve rubbed into the bruises that covered the better part of his body to promote healing. Deeper cuts were stitched, they popped his nose back in place and bandages were wrapped around various places on his body, mainly his head and around his chest. He had to deal with a concussion and broken ribs – again – but Connor counted himself extremely lucky that none of his organs had ruptured under the abuse of the baseball bat. That would have killed him, no questions asked.

And if he was to believe Cutter's words, this whole ordeal today had been to teach him something, to show him what would happen if he fucked up. Now he understood why Kadar had said to win, to always win, to never beg, to push away his pride because it wasn't worth a fuck in the Pit. To do what was necessary to survive before you found yourself flat on your back with your legs spread... or worse.

He barely caught himself in time as they threw him into the room, bracing himself on his hands so he wouldn't fall on his battered ribs. He slowly lowered himself onto his side and then onto his back, blearily staring up at the dark ceiling as the guards left, chuckling as they did so. He still had a horrible taste in his mouth, of blood and... something else.

Cutter had been right, he wasn't new to swallowing. He could safely say that the man tasted disgusting though.

“You were right.” he wheezed and turned his head to where Kadar sat. “Pride really isn't worth a damn out there.” He sat up with a wince and pressed his hand against his ribs, taking a moment to just breath. “That guy...” he said after a moment, keeping his eyes on the wall across of him. “Cutter. What can you tell me of him?” The more he knew, the better.

-=-=-=-

Shit, he looked bad. That cut on his face had re-opened, bruises blossomed over skin. Bandaged up and winded, Kadar waited until the guards left, hearing an almost mirthless chuckle. Yeah, he knew that laugh well.

"Nothin' to tell, I'm bettin' you've seen your fair share." Moving off the cot, Kadar offered Connor an arm, frowning. "All I know is he's under Silas, he does this shit for kicks, and yeah- pride ain't worth a _fuck_ with him around." He pulled, carefully, easing Connor over to a mat and giving him a once over. "Did he do that whole, 'I mark my bitches' line?" He actually smiled when Connor peered up at him, shrugging.

"He's said it to me every damn time. That asshole was my first, second and fourth loss. I've only had five in three years, and he used the same lines every fuckin' time."

Settling by his side, Kadar was half on his cot, and very lightly draped an arm over his chest. "Whatever happened out there it's the same shit he's pulled on everyone. I know, it doesn't make it better but you're not alone in this." He fingered bandages lightly, waiting for his own turn. Guards would arrive for him any moment. They were like clock work unless something was up.

"When you're well enough, I'll give ya a few pointers, kay?" He draped the blanket across Connor, thought for a moment, and removed his shirt to drape that over him too. Dirty yeah but... he'd be warmer. Not warm, but warmer. "Until I get back, take it easy. Think of it this way, you made it out alive." And despite himself, he offered a dim smile. "Who knows? Maybe your dad will find ya soon." He sincerely doubted it, but Connor needed the comfort. A moment of false hope in this hell whole would hardly ruin him.

-=-=-=-

Kadar's words helped; the guards came shortly after to take Kadar to the Pit but Connor kept his eyes on the open doorway for a while longer, thinking his friend's words over. 

He had made it out alive. And yes, his father would find him soon. There was no way that Haytham would give up on him, right? Not after what had happened to mom, how they had lost her to the same bastards, to Cutter and Lee... he clung to the belief that his father still cared about him enough to want to get him out of this hell. He had the money to make it happen, and surely his son was worth more to him than his money was.

As long as he could cling to that, could believe it, he would be fine. His wounds would heal over time, and the memories he could push to the back of his mind... and as long as he held hope, he could survive.

Connor fell asleep shortly after, and did not wake up even when Kadar returned hours later with fresh bruises and cuts. His body needed the rest to heal and it was determined to get as much as it was allowed to. It was safe to think that Silas wouldn't have him called up for another fight anytime soon; he wouldn't be worth much in the Pit with the injuries he had sustained, the broken ribs especially. He'd need weeks at least before he would be fit enough again, and before that happened Haytham would surely find him and get him out of here.

No, he worried about Kadar. It was probably stupid; he had survived for three years and had only lost a handful of times, of which most were to that fucker Cutter, and against him there was no winning. Kadar didn't need his worrying, but Connor couldn't help it. He was the only friendly one around here, the only one to keep him company, and that meant more to him than he could put into words. Without Kadar around this would have been even more difficult to handle. They were there for one another, and even when they were both silent, lost in their own thoughts, the silent company did more than enough. Just being near, as corny as it sounded, helped.

And once Haytham came, Kadar would be free too, to pick up his old life, or to create a new one. Connor could help him with that surely, do whatever was in his power to get him onto his feet again. Perhaps he still had family somewhere.

Connor wasn't sure how much time had passed when he finally woke up again; the hallway outside was quiet, meaning that most of the others were asleep. Grumbling under his breath he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and blinked a few times, feeling his stomach growl. He hadn't eaten anything since he 'fight' with Cutter; fuck, he was starving.

He hissed as he slowly rolled onto his side, his expression scrunching up in a wince and narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the darkness. Where was Kadar? He wasn't still out fighting, was he? “Kadar?”

-=-=-=-

Damn that son of a bitch could _hit._ The infirmary, for whatever reason, was more packed than usual. It took Kadar twice as long to see the doctor, stitches lining his left eyebrow. Thankfully it was the only injury worthy of attention and it wasn't that severe. It just bled like a bitch with all those capillaries bursting.

Sore, his cell sounded enticing with its pushed together cots. And his injured... well, friend. Weird, he had a friend. Only took him three years to make one, but he liked Connor. For all his naiveté, his sense of hope- while misplaced- was somewhat refreshing. So many others had given up within the first few days, leaving Kadar to find their cold bodies across his cot after a fight. Not this one, there was a fire in him. He just hoped it remained in him long after his father gave up searching.

He reached their shared cell and paused. Connor was dead asleep, and for a moment he watched him slumber before continuing his stroll. Why wake him up? His adrenaline was still pumping...

The pit dogs were turning in, but Kadar continued his stroll. There was no curfew to speak of, just a sort of agreeable time most went to bed. Truth be told he usually did too, but not tonight. He just wasn't ready to settle down yet, too much adrenaline.

He was a bit lost in his thoughts, concerning his own family. Wondering if Altair had died too, or if his brother had made it out alive... he didn't notice the subtle changes; cleaner walls, sandy floor giving way to swifter asphalt. It wasn't until his feet graced cool tile that he realized here he was and stopped.

By Silas' office. Fuck!

And there were foot steps, the sound of murmured voices growing louder. Quickly, Kadar sought refuge in an opened closet, shelves digging into his back as he hid behind the door until they passed. He did not want to see Silas, or worse, to have Silas see him. Pit dogs didn't go by Silas, his den, his guards... it was unheard of. Angering Silas meant on thing; a slow, torturous death. Eyes steeled themselves shut, holding in his breath as the voices grew discernible.

"… definitely seen around the square, we're sure of it."

"FBI, you're sure of it?"

"Oh yeah, ya can tell the FBI from the civilians. Their Portuguese is too propa'."

FBI? Silas and Cutter were talking about the FBI? What would the States federal department be doing in-

"They haven't found the entry way?"

"Nah, looks like they're just arrivin', sir." Cutter sneered, chuckling as he picked his teeth with a dull pocket knife. "Looks like Charles was right. 'Aytham ain't giving up on his lad so easily."

"Well, he's always been the nice one, William and he with their moral codes."

"Favorin' natives and 'ethens, little darkies an' children." Shaking his head in disgust, Cutter turned to Silas with a shrug. "Anythin' to worry about?"

"Not yet, Brazil is enormous. We operate efficiently."

"So no alertin' Borgia?"

Silas laughed, a cold, distinct sound. "No. I can slit my own throat for incompetence." A pause, and Silas exhaled, long and deep. "No, we'll take our chances. Haytham may have tracked us here, but there's no way in hell he'll find the underground arena. All the money in the world can't do that for him."

"Wha' about his son?"

"If he gets any closer, we'll simply do another live feed- a fight to the death. Starring his son and an experienced fighter. Connor will loose, and Haytham- stricken with grief- will hopefully jump from a fucking to-"

He could no longer hear them, staying put long after foot steps faded.

.. His father was _here?_ In Brazil? How the fuck did he manage that?!

He checked each hall, practically running to his cell, clamoring against a bottle that lay beside the cell wall. He heard Connor rouse and call to him as he entered.

"… Uh, hey." He frowned, settling down beside Connor and threw an arm over his chest, softly. "Long fight, ya know how it is." Blue eyes blinked, thoughtfully, but he remained silent. No sense in getting his hopes up, there was a huge chance that Haytham wouldn't find them. He wouldn't let Connor be let down like that.

But he would keep his own ears open from now on. Laying his head on Connor's shoulder, Kadar got comfortable, settling down. Someone was coming, and while not for him it meant... seeing the sun for the first time in three years. Finding out if his brother lived. Maybe going... home?

And for the first time in years a little glimmer of hope returned to him. Maybe, just maybe Haytham would find them. Maybe he could support Connor's naiveté just a little. Maybe they'd be free yet.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the responses on the last chapter! We love you guys! <3 *hugs for everyone*
> 
> I'll get straight to the warnings for this one: **more violence, angst, drama AND GRAPHIC CHARACTER DEATH! I am seriously not kidding. If you're easily squicked you may want to skip that part.**
> 
> This chapter gets pretty heavy. Sorry Connor. *free tissues for everyone*

Kadar had been acting... strange lately. Well, not exactly strange, but different. He still was like he had always been: he simply waited until it was his turn to be brought towards the Pits, he still never complained, never fussed and it was still near impossible to get a real smile out of him... but sometimes... sometimes Connor caught him staring with an odd gleam in his eyes.

It was almost a week after his disastrous encounter with Cutter, and so far he hadn't brought it up yet. His wounds were healing; a slow process but none of his injuries had gotten infected (as far as he knew anyway) and fever had continued to avoid him. His concussion was no longer bothering him so much that he felt dizzy or nauseated whenever he moved too suddenly, or got up out of bed too swiftly, and while breathing was still a pain in the ass, it was a little better now. At least he could properly breathe through his nose again.

Though it did not compare to the last time he had dealt with broken ribs. Haytham had taken good care of him in his own way, even though their relationship had still been very strained and forced and his father had continued to avoid him most of the time, but at the same time he had always made sure there was a fresh supply of pain killers and bandages available, and he helped with refreshing them every day whenever Connor needed it (and Haytham was around to do so that is).

Nothing like this here though. The bandages had only been replaced once, when guards had taken him back to the doctor for a check up on his ribs three days ago. And as for painkillers? Clearly Silas couldn't be bothered to waste money on that. One would think he'd take better care of his pit dogs, seeing as they and their fights brought in a good chunk of money, but no. Even an aspirin was too much to ask for around here.

Not like they weren't available, but the price was too high. There was a bit of a black market thing going on around here; some of the guards were willing to smuggle small things, like aspirins, cigarettes or drugs for the pit dogs in return for... services. It wasn't something Connor would resort to, no. He'd much rather deal with the pain then.

Either way, he was still in no shape to fight and Connor wouldn't say that it bothered him. The days were long and boring, with little to nothing to do but wait, but at least Kadar kept him company.

He was still hopeful that his father would come for him. There had been no signs but it had only been two weeks since he had been taken, there was still time. He liked to think he knew his father at least somewhat, and Haytham wasn't someone to give up easily.

… he missed home, he truly did. His father's apartment had actually started to feel like home after a few months, despite it being so different from what he was used to in New Rochelle. He missed the spectacular view on the Atlantic and New York's skyline from his bedroom window, or near the large window in the living room, which was a favorite spot for both him and Haytham.

He missed lounging on the couch, watching movies on his father's huge TV... and preferably with him around, even though he always had something to nitpick on.

He missed his father's cooking. Truly nothing could compare to it; even mom's cooking, while good, wasn't as good as his. Haytham could cook in a five-star restaurant and still be called good. Connor had told him that once; it had been meant as a compliment and seeing the light blush creep onto his father's cheeks had totally been worth it.

And yes, he missed the sex, the intimacy. It was so very different from the intimacy he sometimes shared with Myriam. While the sex with either of them was both purely for the physical relief – at least that's how he saw it and he knew that's how Myriam saw it too, but after that last Skype call he wasn't so sure about Haytham anymore, some of the things he had said back then...

It was rough, and it always left him sore, with hand shaped bruises on his hips, hickeys along his shoulders and neck and a limp in his step the next morning, but he missed it. Haytham made him feel wanted, needed, and after being ignored by him for twenty years... well, they had a lot of catching up to do.  
As corny as it sounded, he missed waking up in his father's bed the next morning, his scent lingering in the blankets and pillows. Most of those times Haytham had already left when he woke up, off and gone to work, but sometimes he stayed.

Sometimes he would already be awake, and Connor would wake up to find pale grey-blue eyes watching him. Sometimes it would be the other way around and Connor would watch him instead, observing the slow rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful expression on his face. Those were the only times Haytham actually looked fully relaxed and peaceful, when he was dreaming. He was always so guarded during the day. He often wondered what his father dreamed about.

He... even missed their arguments. While not fun, they were challenging, as Haytham had always been very good with words, always having a sharp reply ready.

Fuck, he just missed talking to him and having him around even if it wasn't always pleasant. Haytham was the only real family he had left and Connor wanted him _back._

“Knock knock, ladies!”

Connor was pulled out of his reminiscing and looked up from his place on the cot, and stiffened immediately as his eyes fell on Cutter standing in the open doorway with a smirk on his face. In his hands he held a tray with two bowls of the same crappy drab they were given every day, which was odd... handing out food to the pit dogs wasn't exactly Cutter's job, was it?

“The hell do you want?” Connor asked as he pushed himself up, and cast a quick glance at Kadar who sat next to him.

“Now now,” Cutter tsked. “Remember your manners, boy-o, lest you need 'nother lesson. You know I'm always happy to give it.”

Gritting his teeth Connor stayed silent. Fuck, he believed it too.

“I'm just here to give you two your grub.” Cutter continued and set the tray on the floor before he wiped his hands on his shirt. “And to check up on ya. How's your ribs?”

“Like you care.” Connor muttered and Cutter dramatically reeled back as if punched, placing his hand over his heart and pretending to tug out an imaginary dagger.

“Ow, right in the feels! I care, boy-o. I broke them after all and I'm proud of me work.”

Oh yes, that _really_ was something to be proud of! Connor rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath. Fucking bastard.

“Anyways! You two eat your dinner. Chop chop.” He caught Connor's wary stare and glanced down at the two steaming bowls before sighing. “I didn't spit in it, if that's what you're thinkin'.” Connor was still eying them. “I also didn't piss in them.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Connor grumbled with a shiver and Cutter threw his hands into the air, exasperated. Bloody kids!

“Well, you better eat it. Silas wants you to keep up your strength for your next fight.“

“What?” Connor balked at that and sat up straighter, eyes going a little wider. “He expects me to fight like _this?”_ Gesturing at the bandages around his chest Cutter shrugged and smirked.

“You may have ta, sooner than you think. Boss's orders. Smell ya later, kiddos.” With that he left and Connor resumed staring at the two bowls of drabby sludge they dared to call porridge, as if it had just personally insulted him. Keep up his strength? With _that?_ There was no way he was going to be fighting anytime soon, it just wasn't realistic, unless they wanted him dead! And another week of eating that drab would surely kill him anyway!

With a groan he fell back onto the flimsy mattress and punched the straw-filled pillow. “These guys are insane!”

-=-=-=-

Five says, five days of constant searching. Countless leads and tips kept him up to the wee hours of the morning. Any opportunity of sleep was plagued with nightmares of various sorts. From his inability to protect Connor, to his son's face as Cutter raped him- and those weren't the worst dreams. He preferred those to the ones he had of Connor sleeping, peacefully curled against him. The nights he spent in his room, he tended to be his 'little spoon', and Haytham was free to kiss and lick his shoulder and neck, often nuzzling. His arm draped around him, he'd clutch tightly even as Connor turned in his sleep. It... he became accustomed to him, his smell, his touch, his taste.

To wake up and realize he wasn't there, and very well may never be again... the thought had crossed his mind more than once. Last week was a close call, far too close... he couldn't allow for something similar to happen again.

Haytham steeled himself, attending every interrogation, whether behind small offices of closed glass or acting as a fly on the wall. Caffeine, searching, repeat- it became his life. And finally, day five came the huge break they'd wanted. A former participant agreed to lead them to the whereabouts, the entry to the underground world that housed the prisoners, and perhaps his son- in exchange for a lesser prison sentence. 

It lead them to an underground cavern, a cellar door connected to a condemned building in the urban ghetto. A network on tunnels, from Rio to Guadalajara and beyond, twisting and turning, branching into thicker tunnels that lead to the pits. This one man just so happened to know the location of a pit in Rio, a pit that very possibly held his own son. 

Just the next day, the man who'd scouted the area, who'd shown them everything turned up dead. A Colombian neck tie, his throat had been slit ear to ear, tongue cut out and his body quartered. In the thick heaps of mutilated flesh bore the repeated words 'traitor.'

Haytham couldn't force himself to care much for the man's fate as he probably committed the same acts as Cutter had. All that mattered was getting his son back... and in a few days time the raid would begin. Haythams hands clenched, eyes fixated on his lap top, on the pictures Myriam took of them on Haytham's birthday, and the ones William took after their paintball match.

He'd get him back, alive. No matter what the cost.

~*~

He didn't speak a damn word, not one word. Even after Cutter set their bowls down, Kadar remained silent, Connor flopping down beside him. He hadn't had a fight since last week... and they were readying them both. He and Connor. For a fight.

And he could fucking guess _why._ His blood ran cold at the thought. 

"It's far from insane, just cruel. But not without purpose." He swallowed hard, lips pressed into a thin line. There was no hiding it now. "Your dad found ya." Kadar held up his hand, halting Connor's questions. "Silas and Cutter were talkin' about it. I didn't wanna tell ya, I mean, Brazil is fuckin' huge and they'd just gotten here last week." He muttered, in slight awe. "I've heard of rescue attempts, but never someone sending FBI agents..." Blue eyes softened as they looked at the one man he considered a friend in years.

"He must love the fuck out of ya." Lucky bastard, his brother would probably do the same, if he thought he was alive. Clapping Connor on the shoulder once, the half grin faded from his face, eyes growing distant, cold. 

"Silas and Cutter know he's found them, or that the FBI is planning a raid." It was too difficult to completely remove the emotion from his face. It hurt to say this, it hurt to think it. The truth often hurt.

"They said, if Haytham found out about your whereabouts, they'd pit you up against an experienced fighter. Silas always gives a good show, ya know, he's a 'business' man but..." He licked dry lips, but even his mouth went dry, and he took a long look at Connor, from his bruised, barely wrapped ribs, the healing marks on his face and the large brown eyes that looked back at him.

"They're gonna broadcast the feed, to your father. They're going to have you killed, Connor. And by the looks of it..." Kadar twirled his spoon, teeth grit. Nails dug into his palms as he spat it out the harsh reality of it all. "... the experienced fighter they're pitting against you is me."

-=-=-=-

Connor could do nothing but stare at his friend, disbelief in his eyes as he sat up slowly. He could barely believe it. Of course he had hoped, had never stopped hoping but... he was really here? His father was really here, in Brazil, tracing his location? And not only that, he had dragged the FBI with him as well?

Oh leave it to Haytham to make a big show out of it! That bastard, he was amazing!

Connor's smile quickly melted off his face though; Kadar did not look happy about the situation and at first Connor didn't understand why... until it was explained to him.

“They... wh-what?”

The look in Kadar's blue eyes spoke of no lies... he was telling the truth. Silas was going to make him fight, in a battle to the death and force his father to watch it. They were going to have him killed on camera, and make Kadar be the one to do it.

Why? _Why?_ What had he done to deserve this? What had Haytham done to be forced to watch this happen? This went far beyond Lee's desire to see them separated!  
He couldn't fight Kadar... even when healthy he wouldn't be able to! He was so much better a fighter, Connor knew that he wouldn't stand a chance, no matter the circumstance!

“This... I...” Closing his eyes Connor buried his face in his hands, struggling to take deep breaths, to not let the panic overwhelm him completely... he wasn't very successful. “I can't fight like this!” Pressing his hands against the yellowed bandages around his chest he opened his eyes again, staring at the far wall without really seeing it. “I can't f-fight you!” 

No no no, Haytham was so close, and now it seemed that he wouldn't even survive the next twenty-four hours. He was a dead man... and his father would storm in here and find his bloody broken corpse because they had forced his only friend in here to kill him for their own sick games and Haytham would break into pieces and never recover and-

“I can't do this... I can't do this...” he wheezed, his fast breathing pushing against his ribs and Connor let his body fall backwards again, his head hitting the pillow as his trembling fingers gripped the blanket and tears gathered in his eyes.

He didn't want to die. He just wanted to go back to his father, to go home. Was that truly too much to ask for?

-=-=-=-

He didn't say a thing, not a damn thing as Connor collapsed into himself. It'd be a lie to say he'd never seen this happen in the Pits before. But he'd never had this happen to a friend.

Kadar wasn't the friendliest person. His brother was worse but he wasn't a gem either. He had roommates last a lot longer and a lot shorter than Connor, but he didn't bond beyond humane moral standards.

Connor was just a kid. A strong kid, with a lot of potential, but still just a kid. A kid crying because he'd never see his fuckin' dad again and was unlikely to live beyond the next twenty-four hours. A few years ago, with some minor changes, that had been _him._

No words, but he did lay his head beside Connor's, eyes softening as he watched him. Tentative fingers brushed the tears from his face, the first time he'd done so in a number of years. Naive, sad, frightened- he was a good kid, trying to talk about his family, his dad, his friends... making him converse, making him almost feel human again, even if briefly.

"... I'm sorry, for what they will be forcing me to do in the arena." He held Connor close, rubbing his hand over his back. "If everything goes right it'll be quick, 'kay?" Connor had no idea what he was talking about. Let him assume, let him cry for now. A fire burned in him, jaw set in determination.

Fuck Cutter, fuck Silas... he was the master of his own fate. They'd have muted say in this.

-=-=-=-

Connor closed his eyes and leaned into Kadar's arms. He was a grown-ass man for fuck's sake but right now no one could blame him for having a break down and needing the comfort, not after what he had just learned about his near future.

At least... at least Kadar promised him it would be quick. That at least was something... He would never blame Kadar for this, he was just as much a victim as he was. Surely this wouldn't be his friend's first death-match, and the idea that Kadar had possible killed in the Pit before did not disturb him for some reason. This was about survival and there could only be one winner. It wasn't like any of them had a choice in it.

Connor wasn't sure how much time had passed, the two of them on their pushed-together cots, seeking comfort in each others arms because it would be the last time. Connor felt... empty. Emotions and panic had run their course and now he felt drained and tired, too tired to do anything but lie there... and wait.

It was Cutter with a handful of guards who eventually appeared to collect them, loudly banging his fist on the door frame. “On your feet, ladies! There's a big crowd out there jus' waitin' to see you two duke it out!”

They grabbed Kadar first, two guards flanking him on either side and pushing him out into the hallway. The other two pulled Connor away from the cot, onto his feet and held him by his upper arms in case he struggled, but Connor didn't do much to fight it.

They marched them both outside, Cutter leading on, loudly chatting about the upcoming fight but Connor wasn't listening. The panic was returning, growing stronger the closer they got to the Pit. He was aware of the stares, of the other pit dogs watching them being marched out but he didn't bother to look. No doubt they knew that they were headed towards a death match – Cutter wasn't exactly making that a secret – and he didn't want to see the looks on their faces, the pitiful glances, or the relieved expressions that it wasn't _them._

They were greeted by loud cheering as they were brought into the circular Pit. Connor looked up; Cutter was right, there were a _lot_ of people up there, all eager to watch one of them loose and die. Like last time, various 'weaponry' stood lined out along the wall, but what was different was the camera.

There had always been cameras, small ones, attached to the wall high out of reach... he had always assumed they were security cams or something. But this camera was much bigger, and held by one of Silas' goons. For the broadcast of course, and Connor felt a wave of panic nearly overwhelm him. A camera like that would provide a very clear image... clearly they wanted Haytham to see every gory detail of this.

… he felt sick, he wanted to throw up. He couldn't deal with this!

Silas was present as well, and had just finished an introduction speech to the spectators... and his father as well, as the camera was already running. Silas walked towards him and slung an arm around his shoulders, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. “Make it a good show. Daddy is watching.”  
With that he withdrew, but instead of leaving he took a spot near the camera man, joined by Cutter and two guards. Why they were staying, Connor had no clue, but he wasn't given any time to worry about it.

He looked at Kadar, meeting his eyes, just as Silas looked at them both and opened his mouth. “Begin!”

-=-=-=-

Tomorrow, Tomorrow would be the day.

In the midst of the SWAT team briefing, Haytham stood on the outskirts of the room, William and Myriam at his sides. The main entrance needed to be bombarded, followed by the larger entrance to the East. The tunnels lay scattered about, in varying states of wear. Treading with caution was key in certain areas. The largest entrance, while frequently used, was the safest for SWAT. The problem was, the element of surprise would be somewhat muted, making the capture of Silas and Cutter, along with others in charge, near impossible.

Haytham would forgo that exchange for the safety hood of his son.

His pocket vibrating, in his tired state it took him a moment to realize it was his phone. Eyes followed his movements, the attention of the room grabbed after the last incident. He checked, and re-checked, re-reading, pale grey eyes staring at the screen.

"Haytham...?" William placed a hand on his shoulder, but Haytham remained unresponsive, promptly leaving the room to make way to his car in search of his laptop. William followed, urging Myriam to stay put... not that she did. He couldn't blame her, these feeds had been disastrous.

Setting the laptop on the table, the SWAT team huddled around it, interested in what would be evidence, Haytham re-read the text one more time and placed his phone aside. William gave the message a glance, heart sinking.

_The grand finale, papa Haytham. Hope you enjoyed your stay in Brazil. This next show is to die for._

He covered it well enough so Myriam would not see, Haytham glued to the screen of his laptop. Anyone could see his pulse thudding away, and he took a seat immediately. He looked unable to stand, ill... and still he watched, silently as the feed began, with audio this time, and a much cleared image than before.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and special guests watching." Nails tore through the flesh of his clenched hands. Silas... of course it would be Silas! The sparkle of his eyes were reminiscent of William's, but with entirely different reason. "We have a treat for you tonight." A forced sadness twisted Silas' face in mock pity. "It would seem someone is trying to shut us down."

Booing and jeering, the loud cries of the crowd only spurred Silas on. "I know, I know. A travesty it would be. But I assure you, my spectators, I am a professional business man. I'm not about to let down my cliental because one disgruntled man wants me to. Instead, I offer you all the show you've been _craving!"_

Cheering, and Silas walked past the weaponry, making sure to display them all; bats with nails embedded in them, rusty worn out short swords, two machete's with serrated edges- all of thme blood stained, the dried remnants of what was thick liquid peeling and sticking to parts.

"William, wait outside with Myriam."

More weaponry, and Haytham stopped looking, face devoid of emotion. William could only stare. He didn't want to leave his friend but Myriam couldn't see this.

"My thoughts are with you. C'mon, Myriam." It was a struggle to get her to agree, even through the tears lacing her eyes. He could understand, but she couldn't see this. Haytham shouldn't see this but... that was another case entirely.

Silas's radiant face, his beaming smile enraged him beyond all else. "For your viewing pleasure, I give you our reigning champion, our own prized pit dog if there ever was one, Kadar!"

Thin, almost emaciated but still able to retain muscle mass, the boy stepped into the arena. Not much older than Connor, he could see that, his blue eyes oddly dead, lacking life as he blinked. How long had he been there? He should have some sympathy...

Yet the moment his eyes registered Connor- he couldn't remember how Silas introduced him, Cutter joining him during the ordeal but- the bandages on his ribs were in horrendous shape. His hair lay matted, unclean. And even from here he could see the tears and fear in his eyes. His son, his blood... this is how it would end. This would be the last time he'd get to see his son alive. His last words had been angry ones, and that was how he'd be remembered.

No waking up by his side. No more over the top compliments about his cooking, whether said out of truth or kindness. No hunting trips, no paintball, no miniscule arguments and semi-clueless comments.

He was never a man to live in the past, nor regret his actions. He could do nothing to change them. He simply wanted to tell Connor he... his affection for him...

Eyes remained on the screen, even as they misted. All this for nothing... even if they left now, it would take a full half hour to infiltrate. The final fleeting thoughts of hope wilted as the fighting began. He'd watch, he'd be there, to the very end.

~*~

"Begin!" Cracking his neck, Kadar took a good look around, taking his normal position. He hoped Connor knew they had to fight a little at least; getting straight to the death would simply not suffice in this case. He was outmatched, surely, but Kadar could put on a show. He's punches would seem harder than they were. He owed Connor that.

He circled briefly, watching Connor before taking a lunge, allowing his block, only to retaliate with punch to his already bruised jaw. He heard it clack shut and kept the apologetic look for a moment, sweeping Connor's legs out from under him, and then backed away to allow him to stand again. A brief show before the final event... Kadar licked his lips.

He was ready.

-=-=-=-

Connor watched his friend closely as Silas gave the start shot. Everything seemed to slow down, and his surroundings seemed to blur until it was just him and Kadar left, slowly circling each other and watching the other's movements. It was like the calm before the storm; most of the panic had ebbed away, like sand slipping through his fingers. It still lingered, in the back of his mind, but now that the fight had started his brain had switched to survival mode, adrenaline fueling him on.

He didn't stand a chance, but he refused to go out looking like a weakling. 

Kadar swung first but it was slow enough that Connor could block the punch. He realized too late that it was only to distract him from the second fist coming in from the left, feeling it crash against his jaw. Stumbling back he yelped as his feet were swept underneath him, all air leaving his lungs as he fell onto his back. 

For a few seconds he could do nothing but lay there in the sand, gasping and coughing before he rolled over and crawled back onto his feet as quickly as he could. Already he felt dizzy, his vision swimming in front of him, his breathing labored. This wasn't getting him anywhere...

He tried a punch, Kadar blocked it. A second try, and Kadar blocked that one too. Lifting his leg Connor kicked out, ramming the ball of his foot against his friend's hip, forcing him back; either Kadar hadn't seen that one coming (unlikely), or he had allowed that one to make the fight look less one-sided (likely). Normally his pride would have bristled at this but Connor still remembered Kadar's words. 

What good would his pride do him when he lay in the sand, bleeding out?

The fight quickly moved on from fists to tools; Connor avoided looking into the camera as he grabbed one of the machetes, Kadar doing the same. He made a face at the sight of the dried blood sticking to its serrated edge, and lifted it; sparks flew as the blades met.

Both got a few hits in. Connor managed to slide the blade along Kadar's shoulder, creating a cut that quickly dribbled blood down his arm. He couldn't jump back fast enough to avoid Kadar's swing, his machete slicing a line across his left pectoral; it stung and burned, deep enough to bleed freely but he wasn't too concerned about any old flecks of blood getting into the wound; he wouldn't live long enough to have to worry about an infection anyway.

He could tell that Kadar was going easy on him. For the most part he was glad for it; they couldn't have been at it for more than a few minutes but already he was exhausted; his ribs hurt with every breath he took. There was blood in his mouth from the few punches he had received to the head, and he kept feeling like he was about to throw up.  
He almost wished that Kadar would just get it over with, stop drawing it out but then he remembered the camera and that his father was watching this, and how he was trying to hold on to postpone the moment for a little while longer, to spare Haytham from seeing it happen.

The machetes were discarded again, carelessly thrown against the wall and the fight returned to fists once more; Connor managed to land an uppercut to Kadar's chin and took a hard kick to the stomach for his efforts that winded him almost hard enough to knock him out.

He stumbled back, almost loosing his balance and leaned forward, hands resting on his knees and he gasped and wheezed for breath.

He couldn't take much more of this.

-=-=-=-

Woozy and winded, even with him going easy. A well placed kick and Connor was almost breathless, Kadar turning his head to spit out the bit of blood from that uppercut. Connor's injuries were just too grave for a show... he'd wished to make this easier on himself, but such things were foolish. It hardly mattered now, and would never matter again.

"Connor." He spoke low, voice gruff but soft. Blue eyes met the tired brown before him, and for the first time in a long time, he couldn't help himself. He smiled. A real one, the corners of his lips twitching.

"Al-Sayf. It's the last name of both my brother and I." His gaze never faltered, even as he saw the raw confusion within him. "Tell him I love him. He was the greatest brother a kid could have. And tell him not to hate Altair, I've forgiven him. He didn't know any better, we were kids, angry kids way over our heads."

He listened to the booing crowd and stood upright. Not his fighting stance, not even close. Instead, he turned to the camera by Silas, ignoring the interested, slightly annoyed look he gave him as he mouthed, quite obviously: _You're welcome._

With that he turned up the middle fingers on both hands and walked to middle of the arena, glaring Cutter straight in the eye. "Kill him and I will mouth to whoever's watching who the fucking leader of this organization is. If we both die, it'll be a shitty show, Silas. Customers will want refunds. I leave you the only fuckin' option available.

"I ain't fightin' no more. Fuck you and fuck this place." He gave Connor a bloodied grin. "They don't even know I'm alive. We won't make it out together. Kill me, Connor. Kill me so I don't have to suffer this shit any longer. Be my savior and do it."

~*~

He watched blood spill, he watched gashes re-open, he watched Kadar drop his fighting stance and turn to him, knowing he was there...

His eyes couldn't get any wider.

"We have to leave, now. If we do, we can still get to your son!" Around him they mobilized, shuffling, and Haytham picked up his laptop, eyes glued to the screen. Yes, tonight... they could get to his son tonight. They'd be too late for this... this lad, whoever he was but... but his son. He could still save his son!

He'd remember his face until the day he died, he burned the memory of haunted blue eyes and those words mouthed at him. He didn't even know him. A complete and total stranger to him, and he was sacrificing his life for his son.

It was unfair in the scheme of things, that one of them would die. But if they had to, if that's what it came down to... Connor would need to take a life. His son's eyes were so wide, so very surprised, afraid- and Haytham's knuckles whitened under the force of his grip as he entered the darkened van. The screen was the only illumination allowed.

He only hoped his son could actually kill a man... an undeserving one at that. A sickening thought, but necessary to his survival. He'd need years of therapy after this... and Haytham would spare no expense, no length. Anything to get his son back damnit. Anything.

-=-=-=-

What?

Connor frowned, confusion written all over his face as he listen. Al-Sayf? Find his brother? “Kadar, what-?” He watched in shock as Kadar moved back to the center of the Pit and turned to face the camera, flipping Silas and Cutter off.

W-w-w-w-wait! What was he doing? Was he giving up?

Cutter looked livid, and Silas didn't look too pleased either with the sudden turn-around of his most prized pit dog. “What the hell do you think you're doing, kid? Keep the camera rolling! Cutter, with me.”

Connor could detect no fear in Kadar's eyes, just a gleam of determination, and maybe even relief as Silas marched up to him, closely followed by Cutter, the camera man and the two guards. “You little shit. You think you can just give up?” Not even the sharp backhand to the face seemed to faze Kadar and the two guards quickly stepped up behind him, pressing down on his shoulders as they kicked the back of his knees, forcing him down in a kneel.

“Fine then!” Silas spat. He could still make this work to his advantage. “I have no use of a dog who doesn't want to fight anymore. You, boy!” 

Connor stiffened as all eyes turned to him, his feet frozen in place. Cutter walked up to him and grabbed him by the arms, forcefully dragging him to where Kadar was. He was horribly aware of how close the camera was and he tried to meet Kadar's eyes, but his friend kept his head down, accepting his fate.  
Why was he doing this? To save _him?_ Was that why he was giving up?

“Come on, Kadar. Get up!” he pleased. If they could just... both make it out of this fight alive, then Kadar could be free too when Haytham came for him. It was wishful thinking, he knew that, there was no way they would both survive, but this... this...!

Something was pressed into his hands, something hard, cold and heavy and as Connor glanced down his face blanched; it was a metal baseball bat, the rounded head flecked with old dried blood.

“Kill him.”

His head snapped up to Silas, who met his gaze evenly, and nodded at Kadar. “Kill him, boy. Finish him off and you may yet live to see another day.”

Connor glanced down at the bat again, his trembling fingers tight around the handle and then looked at Kadar's kneeling form before he shook his head. “No...” he whispered, chest heaving as he took a shaky breath. “I will not kill a defenseless man. I won't do it.” The bat slipped from his fingers and fell into the sand with a soft thud, and Connor straightened... only to stare right into the barrel of a gun. Eyes widening he took a step back and Cutter chuckled.

“Better pick up that bat, boy-o, and do as you is told. If ya don't...” The click of the safety being removed almost felt like a punch to the face, and Connor felt a bead of sweat dribble down his temple. “I'm afraid I have ta kill you both.” Cutter changed his aim, pointing it at Kadar's head before leveling it with Connor's face again. “Pick up the bat.”

Connor could do nothing but stare, frozen in place, his heart erratically thumping away behind his ribs as his breathing came with short, quick gasps, panic starting to take over. 

Cutter sighed. “Look at it this way, boy-o.” He nodded at the camera. “Your dad is still watchin'. You have two choices 'ere. One, you pick up that bat and show yer dad what you is capable of, murdering a, as you say, defenseless man in cold blood. Or two, you make yer dad watch me shoot you both. And I won't make it quick either. For example, I'll shoot ya 'ere first.”

Connor swallowed a terrified whimper as the muzzle of the gun pressed against his groin. “Then I'll shoot ya 'ere.” Two taps against both of his shoulders. “Then 'ere.” His knees were next, and Connor felt like they could give out under him any second now. “ 'Ere next.” A tap against his stomach. “Then, I'll shoot yer friend through the head, and then...” The cold muzzle pressed against his forehead.

“Bang.” Cutter sneered, lips pulling back into a grin and stepped back, gesturing towards the discarded bat again. “So pick it up.”

A few seconds passed, Cutter and Silas waiting and watching Connor's trembling frame, and until the soft, barely audible whisper of “I can't” reached their ears. Cutter stepped forward immediately, grin gone and brought his face right in front of Connor's, loudly screaming in his face. “PICK UP THE BAT!”

“I can't! I can't kill my friend!”

Cutter's expression turned ugly and he swiftly turned his gun around, raising his hand as if he wanted to slam the butt of it against Connor's head, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Wait.” He lowered the gun and glanced over his shoulder at Silas with a frown.

“But 'e-”

“He won't listen to you. But I know who he _will_ listen to.” Digging into his pocket Silas took out his phone and flipped it open, dialing a number before he turned to face the camera and pressed the phone to his ear. “Pick up.”

He didn't have to wait long and as soon as his call was answered Silas lowered his phone, pressing a button. “You're on speaker, Kenway. Your boy needs some encouragement. Better make it count.” He thrust the phone in Connor's direction, the camera aimed on his face. Connor's eyes were wide and fearful, brimming with tears as he looked from the phone, straight into the camera and whispered. 

“D-dad?”

-=-=-=-

God damn it, God damn it Connor! His teeth grit as he watched, watched them strike the other kid, watched Cutter pull a damned gun and start threatening, watched the sweat trickle down his son's forehead and the fear in his eyes. Connor had to do it, he had to!

He could scream, he honestly could. Sitting silent in a bumpy van full of SWAT team members, they were still twenty minutes away. They wouldn't make it in time to save them both, didn't Connor get that? Did he even know they were on the way?

Silas stopped, gesturing to Cutter before the butt of the gun could hit his son's face. A phone, they were dialing and...

His pocket vibrated.

Fingers trembled, but he fought to keep his voice neutral, or as neutral as he could under the circumstances as he accepted the call. "Haytham speaking."

_“You're on speaker, Kenway. Your boy needs some encouragement. Better make it count.”_

And of course, the camera panned to Connor. His bruised, bandaged son in all his naiveté, with his misted doe eyes and trembling lower lip. He'd never seen him this afraid, this scared, and there were a hundred things he wanted to say. None of which was relevant to the cause.

_"D-dad?"_

He stared at his screen, fingertip stroking the side of his son's face where the first tears dripped down his face. "Connor." There was a softness in his voice he couldn't place. He'd never heard it before, not from him.

He should tell him to back down. An innocent man dying for his release simply wasn't fair. Neither was either one of their deaths. Neither was the death of Ziio. Neither was the manipulation of Birch, or of Charles Lee. Life was simply unfair.

This boy was innocent. As was his son. The problem was, he wanted his son back, alive. And was willing to do anything to get him.

Anything.

"Aim for the back of the neck, try to sever the spine from his skull." It was hardly the cold voice he'd aimed for, but he lacked time. Everyone was listening to his directions. He should feel sick.

Instead he felt relief that he still had a chance to find his son alive soon. He didn't know what that made him. He almost didn't care.

"Quick, powerful shots if you can, it'll be almost painless. The severed spine will make him numb, Connor. Then..." He cleared his throat, doing away with the thickness. "Cave his skull in. Finish the job quickly, lad. As quick as allowed." Because he was coming for him, it went unsaid but sworn, and he watched Connor cry, helplessly.

"You can do this. I've survived this, Connor, I have. So can you." Eyes drifted to the unmoving, nameless blue-eyed boy still kneeling in the sand, his head still down. "Thank you. I'll never forget the graciousness you've sh-"

With a mock yawn and an eye roll from Silas, the phone was clicked off. Haytham swallowed hard, eyes on the screen. Please Connor, please... do it!

-=-=-=-

“Dad? Dad!” No answer and Silas put his phone away again.

“You 'eard him. Even your old man wants you to do it.” Cutter aimed his gun again and smirked. “I'm gonna count to ten, boy-o. If you haven't picked up that bat and finished it by then, well... One.”

Fearful brown eyes glanced down at the discarded bat in the sand. Oh god he couldn't do this!

“Two.”

Trembling fingers reached down, slowly curling around the bat's handle, Connor's breathing erratic and too fast.

“Three.”

He looked at Kadar again, and this time his eyes met blue. There was no way Kadar wasn't scared, Connor could see it in his eyes now, but even so he seemed to have made peace with this. This was his way out as well.

“Four.”

One tiny nod and his head dropped again, blue eyes closing followed by a deep breath.

“Five.”

All around him the spectators were screaming for blood, yelling at him to finish it, to kill his friend. His grip on the bat tightened.

“Six.”

Swallowing down a whimper Connor raised his hands, lifting the heavy piece of metal over his head, keeping his eyes on the back of Kadar's neck. Kadar was actually leaning forward a little, giving him a better view of where to aim his swing.

“Seven.”

Squeezing his eyes shut hot tears streamed down his face and Connor took a deep breath, as deep as his battered ribs allowed him, the bat trembling in his grip.

“Eight.”

 _I'm sorry, Kadar, I'm so sorry!_ Gritting his teeth he widened his stance, telling himself to swing. To do it. Do it now! Now! Befo-

“Nine.”

With a loud scream, one that was filled with anguish, with pain, desperation, regret, fear and sorrow, Connor swung the bat down with all his might, slamming it against the back of Kadar's neck as hard as he could. Kadar jerked immediately, a short groan that ended abruptly leaving his lips and the guards let go of him. He fell face down into the sand, and through the blur of his tears Connor couldn't see how his body twitched and convulsed, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth to soak into the sand. He raised the bat again to the loud cheers of the spectators and let it come down with a second cry, this time slamming the rounded head of the bat onto Kadar's skull. He more felt than heard how bone cracked and splintered under the force, and something hot and wet splattered onto his face and over the sand, the dark red a stark contrast against the pale color of the ground. But Connor didn't stop there; too caught up in his emotions, his regret and anguish in having to do this to the only friend he had in this place he raised the bat for a third time and let it come down again and again and again.

The sight of Kadar's head – or what was left of it, bits of brain and shards of bone mixed with the sand, and the blood... so much blood – it seared into his mind's eye as the bloodied head of the bat dropped into the sand. His stomach rebelled but Connor barely noticed it as looked up to look straight at Silas, his face wet with tears and blood that had splattered up, eyes wide like those of a deer caught in the head lights of a car, his emotions open and bare like a raw wound. “Are you happy now?!” he screamed at Silas, who didn't even look fazed, watching as Connor whirled around on his feet and swung the bloodied bat towards one of the guards who had tried to get closer to him – the man narrowly ducked away in time to avoid getting his own face bashed in as well.

Cutter wasted no time and quickly scooted behind Connor, slamming the butt of his pistol against the back of his head. Connor jerked, a strangled groan leaving him and the bat fell from his limp fingers, first falling onto his knees and then collapsing in an unconscious heap in the sand.

“Well... that was messy.” Silas sighed and nodded at the man holding the camera, who shut it off, cutting the feed. “Get rid of the body and get someone to replace this part of the sand. You two take the boy; best put him in one of the isolation cells so he can cool off for a few days.”

“Shouldn't we kill 'im?” Cutter asked and shrugged. “That was supposed to 'appen today anyway.”

“Later, maybe. I wasn't prepared to loose my best dog to this shit today either.” He nudged Kadar's body with an angry frown. “Just take them both away, Cutter! I need to think about this first.”

-=-=-=-

Each strike resonated through the van. Everyone was silent and kept their heads down. The crack of that boy's skull, his son's tear stricken face, the anguished screams and pleas he made. He watched every moment. This wasn't his fault. It wasn't. He hadn't made that child a pit dog, he wasn't the one to condemn him to a life of hell. Neither did Connor. Yet they'd both suffer a guilty conscious. 

He watched as Cutter dragged Kadar's body away by his ankles, leaving a dark, bloody trail behind. Connor too was pulled away and the feed disconnected.

Connor... his fists clenched. He couldn't let this affect him, no. How guilty must his son feel? Survivor's guilt, PTSD and sleepless nights awaited him. Nightmares. Years of rehabilitating, and he'd never be the same. Not after this.

 _Pull yourself together, Haytham._ He'd lament in his own time. Another bump jostled the van, and Haytham closed his lap top with a soft click. Even his revenge could wait for now. In due time, it would come. It simply wasn't the most important thing now.

He couldn't arrive quickly enough, or rather, they couldn't. Instructed to wait in the van, Haytham waited for everyone to leave, giving them a fair head start before activating the flashlight on his cell phone. Armed with a small Daringer gun, he followed the path silently, dress shoes quickly getting covered in slime in the trickle of the sewers. Rats scuttled about his feet, their chirps high and loud against the walls. The trickle of water, the constant smell- ghastly didn't describe the conditions.

His shoes echoed softly, and he watched from a corner, not rounding but simply watching the SWAT team ready what he knew to be quite a few flash grenades. The element of surprise was key, though Haytham wondered how surprised they'd even be.

A visual finger count and the signal was in place- he wouldn't wait to get Connor out, no. Connor would see his face now, would know that what had happened was unavoidable. Would know that he... he harbored no ill feelings, that it was just a misunderstanding between them. He wanted him home. He needed his son alive and home.

A quick rush and a burst of noise, the surprised sounds of guards caught unaware hitting him as a strong sound- the sound of gas escaping the grenade- filled the sewer. Rats scurried around his feet. The first gun shot was heard, followed by a shout, and for a moment Haytham realized what danger he was subjecting himself to before shoving it aside.

Gun shots didn't bother him, he knew they wouldn't surrender. Neither did the yells of pain. The subsequent and continuous sound of firing in the distance however, did. He knew the weapon, it wasn't something SWAT carried with them here. 

A machine gun. They were firing a machine gun.

And he was running towards it, taking off in an instant. His son was in there. He needed to reach his son!

-=-=-=-

He woke up to commotion. To screaming and to gunfire.

Connor slowly opened his eyes and blinked... then blinked again as his vision remained black before realizing that wherever he was, there was no light. And without anything to train his eyes on there was nothing to keep the memories at bay, how Kadar's skull had splintered under the bat, blood splattering everywhere, onto his face and-

Connor choked on a whimper, quickly covering his mouth with his hands as he gasped for breath and rolled over, promptly falling off the cot he was on and onto the cold stone floor. Outside the yells and gunfire kept going and Connor tightly clamped his arms over his ears, curling up. He didn't want to see, he didn't want to remember, he didn't want to be here! Make it stop, please make it stop!

Dad....

The door banged open, bright lights from flashlights pouring into the room and Connor quickly ducked even further into himself, shielding his eyes from it. No god please, he didn't want to go out there again! Not back to the Pit! Please!

Someone knelt down next to him and he jerked away from the hand on his shoulder, wheezing in fright, tears he didn't think he had anymore spilling from his eyes. Please don't make him go out there again! He'd had _enough!_

~*~

The SWAT member quickly removed his hand and reached up, pressing a button on the communicator in his helmet. “Davids here. I found the Kenway boy. He's alive but I need a medical team on standby asap, and someone inform Mr. Kenway immediately.”

Looking at his comrades he waved one of them over, the other staying in the doorway to keep watch. “Help me with him, Riley. I think they just threw him in here after the fight.” Poor kid, he was absolutely frightened, didn't even seem to realize that they were here to rescue him and reunite him with his father. “Hey kid, it's alright. We're here to get you out of here.”

Connor wasn't even responding to his words, still shaking, still breathing way too fast, and jerked away with softly muttered pleas of 'no' whenever they tried to touch him. Being forced to kill that boy with a baseball bat had really messed him up it seemed. Davids sighed. How were they supposed to get him out of here safely if they couldn't even touch him without making his panic even worse?

_“Davids?”_

Grumbling Davids pressed the button on his communicator again. “What?”

_“Kenway is not responding.”_

… the hell? “What the fuck are you talking about?”

_“What I'm saying. I've tried calling to the van numerous times but he's not answering any of them.”_

Oh hell no, that moron! He didn't run out to play hero, did he? That idiot was going to get himself killed in here and he'd be no good to his son dead! “Well someone find him, quickly, before he finds himself with a stray bullet in his head!”

-=-=-=-

Gun fire, amongst the curdling smoke. Beyond difficult to see, this wasn't his wisest idea. He hardly cared. He would not wait any longer.

Along the walls, he edged his way around rooms, taking refuge behind overturned metal garbages or large stacks of weaponry when machine gun fire sounded. He had no idea where Connor could be, but he'd find him. He'd find him before anything else could happen to him.

A larger room, one without gun fire, and the smoke had curdled towards the ceiling, a fog left behind in it's wake. A few steps forward and he could barely see, extending his foot and tapping before each step as he shuffled forward. He halted when he stepped on something, looking down to observe-

... the bloodied hand of a man.

And through the smoke the scene became excruciatingly clear. All around him, amongst the walls and the floors, along the dampened ring of drenched sand, there lay _them._

The others... the pit dogs. What seemed to be dozens of them.

Pained moans came from a few but the most bore multiple bullet wounds. Exploded scalps, brains about the floor, fingers and body parts strewn about in what was a thick heap. The smell of blood was so thick, the stench carrying over the smell of smoke, the occasional flicker of movement visible in the crowd.

They were massacred... they were like Connor...

And his stomach dropped, eyes wide at the very prospect. No... no, no! Not Connor, Connor couldn't be among them, right? They'd dragged him away, surely he wasn't... he wasn't amongst these unfortunate people, right? Right?!

He couldn't see, not a damned thing... it would be almost impossible to sort through the corpses like this. If his son was among them, he couldn't tell until the smoke cleared. He had no choice, he'd have to check elsewhere. His son must be elsewhere. He had to be!

Turning his back on the massive pile of bodies, Haytham moved into another hallway, lined with cells on either side. He stared at the cots and licked his dried lips, mouth covered to prevent himself from coughing. The stench of feces, of urine was borderline putrid! Haytham walked forward, looking for any sign of activity until he heard sounds, from up ahead.

"...he's not answering any of them."

"Well someone find him, quickly, before he finds himself with a stray bullet in the head!"

He recognized the voice and quickly walking towards it, daring to peak his head inside what were empty cells. Which meant, his son...

 _Keep it together, Haytham._ A thick gulp and a tight throat, his voice remained placid, calm as he stood stopped in front of the cell. The glare of the flashlights illuminating just enough; two SWAT team members inside the cell as the third stood watch, and between them what appeared to be a man, a man moaning 'no', swatting them away.

A man who sounded like...

Davids called him something, but he paid it no mind. With his own flashlight he could make out the black hair, the tan skin, the doe eyes fighting to remain shut.

All former thoughts of keeping composure evaded him.

Running inside Hayham well to his knees next to his son, amongst the muck and filth as Riley made way for him. He quickly removed his jacket and draped it over his son's trembling frame; the flimsy material of his clothes and bandages would not suffice against the cold. His hand stroked through dark, knotted hair, and he leaned over him, shielding him, as if that could somehow transport him to an area outside of the cell and away from everything.

"Connor." Whether it was his voice, as hoarse as it sounded, or simply his name that caught his attention, he'd never know. But he'd forever remember the look on his son's face, staring up at him, wheezing and choking.

"Fucking hell, lad." And he helped him up, not enough to sit, but enough to wrap his arms around him and hold on, a sort of embrace that resembled a hug. He was probably hurting him, his ribs, his injuries... he hadn't taken a look at them and he was being irrational, emotional, unlike himself.

For once he didn't mind. Not as one hand ran over his back and the other tightened around his shoulders, his head resting in dirty hair and inhaling, faintly smelling him. He could still smell him, touch him... and he held him closer, closer than he'd ever held anything or anyone.

And all he could say as his eyes shut, his voice cracking through the cell was, "Fucking hell, Connor..."

-=-=-=-

Something draped over him, something heavy, warm and soft and smelling like-

“Connor.” 

He didn't even jerk away from the hand in his head this time, nor from the figure that suddenly loomed over him... that voice, despite having heard it not even an hour ago over the speaker of Silas' phone... he had longed to hear that voice again, speaking directly to him.

He slowly turned his head, wet bleary eyes that were glazed over focusing on Haytham's face and slowly realization dawned in them, chasing away the heavy haze of panic. “Dad?” It was no more than a whisper, barely audible over the noise outside.

He was here! His father was here, in the room with him, wrapping strong arms around him and pulling him into a warm, safe embrace.

His body protested at the tight hug but Connor he found he couldn't care less as relief overwhelmed him. His father had done the impossible, had succeeded where everyone else before him had failed. He could go home!

“Dad!” Reaching up he wrapped his trembling arms around Haytham's shoulders and dug his fingers into the material of his shirt tightly as his face pressed against the junction of his shoulder. The tears returned, but this time they were not tears of fear, or anger, or sadness. They were happy tears, tears of relief and Connor kept a death grip on him, as if he feared Haytham would disappear again if he let go.   
Neither of them cared about the blood on him, about the two weeks of accumulated filth that rubbed off on Haytham's clothing. 

There were so many things he wanted to say, and to ask, but right Connor could only settle with two words. “I'm s-sorry, dad. I'm so sorry. S-so sorry.” What he was apologizing exactly for he didn't even fully know. For not fighting back hard enough; for murdering an innocent person; for sleeping with Myriam; for not having gone home straight away after leaving her; for not being completely truthful about him being alone in the room; for all the hurtful words he had ever said to him; for all the little lies told; for not taking him seriously; for doubting him; for making him worry; for everything. He was sorry for everything he had ever done wrong, for everything that had ever caused hurt.

Davids kept a respectful distance, giving them both some privacy they so desperately needed, but after a worrying glance from Riley he had no choice but to tap Haytham on the shoulder to get his attention. There was still fighting going on, they had to get out of here. “Sir? We have to go. There is a medical team on standby for your boy. Do you need a stretcher of some kind to move him with?”

-=-=-=-

They were right of course, he could continue basking in their reunion later. Gun fire still loomed about, and Connor's injuries were in need of professional care. They'd have to settle for a nearby hospital.

"A stretcher would endanger any man brave enough to come in here." It went without saying, there was enough death surrounding them. He doubted Connor could walk though, he trembled even now, whispering apologies. As if he could control what had happened....

He'd get to that in a moment. First and foremost, they needed to leave.

"Connor..." But as Haytham went to move fingers dug into his shoulders, the grip around him tightening. "Lad, it's alright. I'm to carry you out, I only need to adjust my balance." He still met resistance, but was given enough lee way to stand. He would have carried him as one does a bride, but Connor simply would not let go. And it was beyond his own capacity to make him.

He held him as if he were a child instead, legs locked about his waist, head buried into his neck. If Davids had an objection he said nothing, his son wasn't nearly as heavy as he used to be. As he should have been.

Fortunately, Connor's grip was so tight Haytham didn't need to apply much strength, free to simply run a hand down his back. Davids covered his the front, Haytham took up the middle, and Riley covered the back as they walked, as briskly and cautiously as possible. It was before they entered the adjoining room that Haytham spoke. "Shut your eyes, Connor." He'd seen enough brutality today. No need to subject him to the mounting pile of bodies either. The smell was bad enough.

"Don't open them. I'll let you know when it's safe." A murmur, of what he didn't quite know. He just wanted Connor to listen. And to address another issue.

He stared straight ahead, eyes away from the mutilated bodies and strewn about the place. "Lad, I'll tell you this once. Do not take this the wrong way. Jut shut the fuck up."

His voice was so soft when he said it, his footsteps echoing as they were joined by other SWAT members. He continued, whispering into Connors ear. "I can only guess why you're apologizing. None of this is your fault, it doesn't require an apology. Not one damn bit of it." He only wished what had happened in the Pits would stay there, but that wasn't how life worked. The memories would haunt him, and Haytham would piece him together as best he could. It was all he could do.

"If you're apologizing for the _other_ event..." And he couldn't help but chuckle, completely sardonic until Connor tensed. Haytham spared him a brief incredulous look, staring at black hair, before his grip tightened around him, he took his final steps inside the room, exiting the Pits to a more vacated area. He wouldn't tell Connor to open his eyes until they reached the outside. He would tell him something else.

"It was a misunderstanding of intentions, lad. One that still needs to be spoken of, at a later date. Just know I'm not angry, and realize I say things out of anger with the intent to wound. For that, I am regretful." 

It wasn't the best apology, but it would suffice.

The chatter and talk about them increased as they reached the mouth of the sewer; Silas and Cutter had managed to escape, there were wounded among the dead who they'd hoped to gain information from; bits and pieces of conversation hit him, and he retained the important facts, but kept his focus on Connor, who trembled the closer they got to the chilly nights air.

And there they were, emerging, the sirens of the ambulance casting it's multicolored glow around them. Only then, only as he walked towards it did he whisper in Connor's ear. "You can open your eyes, lad." He needed to call William and Myriam, and he would once in the ambulance. A few days in the hospital, and he'd be transported to New York, to the apartment. To their home.

-=-=-=-

Connor quieted, or stopped his near constant apologizing at least, and instead buried his face further in the crook of his father's shoulder, holding onto him tightly. He did as told, closing his eyes when Haytham prompted him too; he was happy to do it too, he never wanted to see this place again.

He knew they had to talk; he wanted to and yet at the same time he dreaded it, fearful it would lead to another argument... but Haytham's words now helped. He wasn't angry. It had all been a big misunderstanding, from both sides. They could talk it out, make it right again, fix it.

How long they walked through the long hallways, the gunfire growing fainter in the distance, Connor didn't know; he had lost all track of time and he was too tired to even attempt to make sense of it all. But he did notice it when the damp underground smell slowly cleared, making way for fresh, clean, outside air. Connor shifted slightly and raised his head up towards the dark sky, keeping his eyes closed as he took a deep breath. He hadn't been outside in two weeks... already he had gotten so used to the filthy stench inside the Pits, this was almost new.

Even through his closed eyelids he saw the bright, flashing lights of the ambulances and police cars, and he didn't open them even as Haytham told him he could. There was commotion all around them, of people crying and yelling, of officers barking orders and ambulance brothers giving directions. The press had already gathered but the police kept them all at a safe – and removed – distance, far enough they wouldn't be able to get any real detail shots on those brought out of the cave.

Connor wasn't the only survivor. Even though Silas had ordered the execution of all his pit dogs the moment the raid began, preferring to see them all dead instead of seeing them saved, some had survived the massacre; a total of 114 innocent young men, and only nine were still alive, Connor included. And some of them might still die even as they were loaded into ambulances and rushed towards the hospital.

He cracked one eye open, peering over Haytham's shoulder as a group of handcuffed men, a mixture of guards and spectators, were loaded into a police truck. More would follow soon, but Haytham chose that moment to climb into an ambulance as well, cutting off the view of those arrested.   
Connor still refused to ease up his tight grip on his father as he and the ambulance brothers tried to place him down on a stretcher so they could strap him in, clenching his fingers so tightly his nails pressed through the fabric of Haytham's shirt and into his skin underneath.

They managed, eventually, but it took a lot of softly murmured coaxing from his father and Connor kept a tight hold on one of his hands; he couldn't bare the thought of his father leaving his side, for whatever reason, not after everything he had been through, not after so many anxious days of waiting and hoping and even praying that his father would find him.

They covered him with a thick blanket and strapped him to the stretcher, being extra careful not to make it too tight, and quickly attached him to an IV drip and a heart rate monitor. To be on the safe side one of the brothers injected him with a mild sedative, just enough to last him until they reached the hospital which was a thirty minute drive away.

All the while, Connor kept his eyes fixed on Haytham's face, trying not to blink and every once in a while tightening his grip on his father's hand to make sure he was still there, that he wasn't dreaming, or hallucinating. The sedative was doing its job, softening the sharper edges of his panic and anxiety, allowing his body to finally relax a bit, and the horrible memories to fade to the back of his mind even as the ambulance sped away from the chaotic scene.

“Dad...” he whispered, barely aware of one of the brother's sitting at the head of the stretcher, keeping an eye on his vitals, Connor keeping his attention on his father sitting at his side. “I never for one second... believed that you wouldn't come... I knew you would... find me...” He was slurring a bit now but Connor didn't seem to even notice. “I never stopped believing it... just... wanted you to know...” 

-=-=-=-

Of all the things Connor could say...

What could Haytham truly say to that? That at some point he'd almost lost hope? There were times that he doubted his own resolve, their location, the likelihood of seeing his son again at all, let alone alive. Sure he'd kept a brave face for Myriam and William, but he'd been terrified. And yet through Connor's own hell, he'd never lost...what was it? Faith in him? Trust in him? He hardly trusted himself...

He had to avert his eyes, just for a moment. His voice held a hoarse quality, but Haytham calmed considerably, squeezing Connor's hand. "You know me, lad. I always get what I want in the end." He attempted a teasing grin, thumb stroking over bruised knuckles. "We're both stubborn in that right."

~*~

He hadn't let his hand go the entire ride, though he did let Haytham call Myriam and William, who drove to meet then at Hospital Quinta D'or. Even as they exited, Connor did not let go of his hand. Like hell if Haytham would make him. At the very suggestion, made by a staff member, his grip tightened.

"No."

A hard bark of a response, one that broke the language barrier as they pushed Connor through the automatic doors and into the hospital corridors. He'd have to let him go during the examination, but he'd remain in the room.

As soon as he was placed inside a private room (a couple extra twenties were thrown someone's way to see that his son was properly accommodated) an orderly came to look over him, looking under his shirt and examining the bandages, frowning and tutting. "There's an infection on a gash along the ribcage. One of his ribs is healing a little crooked, but it isn't impeding organs." Her eyes flashed to Connor. " I'll leave it up to you if you want to correct it or not."

The examination continued and the list of injuries grew,. Haytham was well aware of the hand in his own tightening as his doctor moved downward. He could imagine why.

It was doubtful she knew what happened, not that it helped the predicament. Connor had been twitching, flinching during the first half of the physical. He wouldn't subject his pride to more.

"Perhaps it would be better if I did this." His eyes met the orderly's, voice calm but insistent. "I've a medical license. I only fear for my son's comfort. The lad has been through enough." 

He was met with silence, the intern weighing the idea before setting the clip board at the foot of the bed. "When you're done, let me know. I still need to draw blood to check for..." It took Haytham a moment but he realized the intention. Right, an STD check. So she had been informed of his son's situation.

He didn't know if he should be pleased about that or not. He settled on neutrality as she left the room, eyes focusing on the sedated brown looking up at him. He'd like to finish this before William and Myriam arrived, but rushing Connor wasn't going to help.

"I'll need my hand, Connor. I'll make his brief." And he meant it. Connor needed sleep, recuperation, and he needed time to think. It took much coaxing to be allowed use of his hand, Haytham washing them in a thorough hurry before gloving up, staring down at the filth ridden pants with a scissor in his hands. The quicker he started, the quicker it would end.

"Ready lad?" Truth be told he was even a bit nervous at what he'd find...

-=-=-=-

Connor actually calmed down a bit when the orderly left, leaving him with just Haytham in the room. He didn't want to let go of his hand but he understood why he needed it and so he reluctantly relaxed his fingers until Haytham could slip his hand free.

It curled into the sheets instead, tightly fisting the fabric as he watched his father wash his hands and put on a pair of surgical gloves, before he picked up a scissor and took his place next to the bed again, near his hips.

Connor eyed the scissors warily, which was stupid, he knew his father would never hurt him and certainly not with something like that. He just wanted to look, to make sure he was alright down there.

Thing was, he wasn't. He had never bothered to look down after... it had happened, and it wasn't like they had been allowed to take showers or baths often at the Pits. The doctor there had only given him one check-over shortly after the fight. And dad didn't know... it was only fair to at least warn him about it, right?

“Wait.” Shaking his head Connor pulled his eyes away from the scissors in his hands and met his father's questioning gaze. “I... you have to know... something happened. There... there was a guy, Cutter. My second fight was against him.” Though it hadn't been much of a fight... more like one guy whaling on the other. “He... _did_ something after wards.” Connor hadn't expected it to be easy to admit that he had been raped, and it wasn't. At least it would be his father checking for damage and not some anonymous nurse he didn't even know, because he knew that it had to be done. He had nothing Haytham had never seen before after all.

It had hurt so bad when it happened. Cutter hadn't given a single damn about his comfort, he had only cared about getting off himself in a way that was as humiliating for him as possible. Cutter had been aiming to hurt and make him bleed as much as possible and he had succeeded in both.

“It's just t-that...” Pulling his eyes away Connor looked at the ceiling again and swallowed thickly, hands trembling as his face reddened. “I just... d-don't know what you'll find down there. I never b-bothered to look.” There, that was as close as to admitting it as he could.

-=-=-=-

Haytham stilled, needing a moment to absorb what the boy was telling him before he put the pieces together. The first two fights hadn't featured a larger camera, they were hidden throughout the arena, which meant...

Connor didn't know he had seen it all.

A deep long breath, and Haytham set the scissors aside, mouthing his lower lip. Lying, while an option, wouldn't help. He'd find out one way or another, when Cutter and Silas were found eventually- they'd use that as evidence, doubtlessly. But telling his son he'd watched every moment, that a few agents and a lawyer would one day know specifics... this was hardly the time for it.

Hiding the truth from his son would only end in disaster, though. The secret kept on behalf of Ziio practically destroyed their relationship beyond repair. Another deep breath and Haytham resumed cutting, doing away with the material before peaking under the sheet.

Dried blood caked his buttocks and around his inner thighs. Nail indentations were healing along his right hip. A deep breath and Haytham looked to his son, his eyes still staring at the ceiling.

"It's not as bad as I thought it would be, given Cutter's violent nature." He paused, trying to be tactful for a change, actually mindful of his sons feelings and settled on something akin to truth. "The arena fights are broadcasted. You need special permission to view one. Silas requested my audience." He left the statement open, squeezing Connor's knee cap. He wet a wash cloth and cleaned away the blood, he needed a better look.

"You were outmatched, lad. Cutter and I go back. At my best, he'd have been difficult to match. Now... my fate would have been the same as yours, doubtlessly." Eyes met his son's, and he spread his legs further apart. "There's no shame in that. Given what he's been up to the past twenty years, I'm just... I'm glad you're here, lad."

Tender was every touch, Haytham wiping away enough blood to see the damage. A infection, a moderate one, but nothing penicillin and few stitches wouldn't cure. Most curious was the clear ulcer, Haytham's eyes narrowed as he touched it, no reaction coming from Connor. Shit. That was not a good sign.

"This may sound stupid given the environment you've been in, but humor me. Have you been excessively tired? Any throat pain?" He'd ask about body aches but how the hell would he even differentiate that? His gloves left him in a snap, Haytham settling beside his son. "No need to be alarmed, lad. The ailment is treatable." His eyes did darkened considerably. "You are however going to need some... sedation." Because cleaning the infection and stitching it was not going to be pleasant. He resumed his hold on Connor's hand, attempting to be comforting. "I'll be here for it, alright?"

-=-=-=-

Connor looked up again, craning his neck so he could stare down his chest at his father's face, confused. He... what?

He had _seen_ it?!

… figures. Letting his head fall back on the pillow Connor aimed his eyes up towards the ceiling again, his throat tight. Haytham had seen everything, how Cutter had beaten him down, how he hadn't fought back enough, how he... hadn't tried hard enough to force him off when he-

He could have tried harder. He _should_ have tried harder.

He would have said he was sorry for being such a weakling, but even Connor knew that none of it had been his fault. That didn't exactly make him feel any better about it, but facts were facts. There had been absolutely nothing he could have done to prevent it from happening. If even dad admitted to... he couldn't imagine his father not kicking Cutter's ass should they ever face. He knew that they went way back, Cutter had said as much, sharing a military background with Haytham, but it was still hard to believe that Cutter would have done the same thing to his father had he been in his son's shoes. Would have defeated him.

He lay as still as he could as Haytham worked, despite the occasional flinch he couldn't stop as his father cleaned up all traces of old, dried blood.  
The question caught him off guard a bit; frowning he glanced down and blinked before shrugging. “I didn't get a lot of sleep there... too much noise and the beds were hard.” As for throat pain... “... I dunno, a little I guess?” It was minor, and easily swallowed up by his larger, more prominent pains. He hadn't really noticed.

“What's going on?” he asked as Haytham took off the close and threw them into the dustbin before sitting down in his chair again, next to his head. “What ailment?” Sedation? What the hell? He tried to sit up, tried to look but before he could even raise himself properly there came a knock on the door; Haytham quickly threw the blankets over him to cover him up and give him his dignity back, before calling out; the door opened, revealing William and Myriam.

They were here!

“Connor!” Myriam's face was tear streaked but she looked happier than he had seen her in a long time, and the relief that was written all over William's face was impossible to miss. Still, as they took one glance at him, the bruises, the bandages, the stitches, his paler skin and gaunter cheeks, his matted hair and the dried blood on his face, their expressions muted a bit.

Myriam rushed to the other side of the bed and grabbed his free hand, not noticing how he tensed up, and she knelt down. “H-how are you feeling?” she whispered, eying him and Connor swallowed.

“Better.” That was the only answer he could give right now, and he turned his head to glance at William, who stood next to his father and again beamed down at him.

“I'm glad you're safe, Connor.” he said and Connor nodded. It wasn't that he wasn't glad to see them again, that they had come all this way to Brazil as well, but if he was honest with himself... he wanted them to leave.

He would never say it out loud – they were worried, he could understand that – but he wanted to be left alone with his father, nothing else. Just him and his dad.

-=-=-=-

He would have answered, and he'd make a note to do so later. Myriam had taken a spot across from him, grabbing Connor's other hand, William next to him... but the twitches, the jump as William went to pat him didn't move past him. Cutter, that hellion; they'd done more damage to Connor than he'd thought.

Myriam clutched his hand between hers tightly, and something about it made Haytham lower his eyes. They'd want to be alone, wouldn't they? Before Connor went under, he should... let them talk amongst themselves. Connor was his son, he'd always protect him as best he could but...

Bah, he was older. Graying. Snide, usually unkind. Granted his intelligence surpassed hers but she was young, pretty to look at. Their interests were the same, as was their age. And the sex had to at least match his own. Not that Connor would engage anytime soon, but- Myriam was probably what he wanted right now.

A doctor came in, accompanied with the orderly from before and Haytham cleared his throat, meeting his son's eyes. No use being selfish now.

"We'll talk outside, about necessary procedures. You'll have some time before you're prepped for very minor surgery, alright lad?"

"Surgery?" Haytham turned to William, nodding "Mm." It would be left as that, William simply nodding and peered at Myriam and Connor. "Yes, I'll accompany you."

Haytham hesitated before following the doctor and William outside the room, pausing by the door. "Just... careful. You do have an infection..." Again, hesitance, before a smile graced his lips.

It did not suit his features, nor was it joyous. "Platonic touching. Not to impede, but you'll have time for such affections later." He couldn't bare the thought of it, but it needed to be said, his voice soft.

"Take care of him. I'll be back soon, Connor." Truth be told he wanted a moment alone with his son, but he needed her. He simply didn't have what she did, something he was missing. Nothing that he could change, it was just the nature of things. One did not dwell on such triviality.

Although Haytham would concede as he spoke to the doctor about starting his son on penicillin to combat the syphilis, the nature of things sucked at present.

-=-=-=-

Connor wanted to resist, to say no, to make him stay... instead he did nothing and simply watched as Haytham stood up to follow the orderly and William out of the room. Under normal circumstances he would have had some kind of sharp, heated reply ready at the hints, the 'advice' to take it slow... but these weren't normal circumstances even if the words made him blush.

As the door closed he sank against the pillow again and next to him Myriam cleared her throat. “He still thinks we're together?” she asked and Connor sighed. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

“No... unless his memory is failing him in old age. I told him that we're no longer together.”

“Yeah but, we haven't done a great job at pretending otherwise.”

Heh, no... they hadn't. Not at all. His hand, the one that formerly had held his father's, twitched, empty. Myriam's hands felt so different he couldn't even pretend, they were softer and smaller, with none of the calluses Haytham had. So different.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Connor frowned and finally pulled his eyes away from the closed door to look at her. “Talk about what? I don't want to talk about the last two weeks if that's what you're asking.”

“No no no!” Myriam reeled back a bit, horrified and quickly shook her head. “No, Connor. No. Not about that. About... what happened before? At my place?”

Oh. That. “There's nothing to tell.”

“But-”

“I don't want to talk about it, Myriam... please.” His voice was barely more than a whisper as he turned his head to look at the door again, waiting for it to open once more. He was too confused to talk about it, not while he was still trying to figure things out, where he stood with her, and where he stood with his father. And about what could continue, and about what should have ended long ago.

“I'm sorry.” she said softly and looked down at her hand, watching how Connor's fingers tightened in them.

“Yeah, me too...”

It was silent for a while. The room was quiet but through the door they could hear the muffled commotion of footsteps and people talking.

“Maybe...” Myriam began and she shifted, stroking the pad of her thumb over Connor's palm. “Maybe you should get some rest? You look awfully tired, Connor.” She didn't get an answer... it was like he hadn't even heard her. Biting her lower lip she leaned forward slightly, watching his face and noted that he was still eying the door. “Or just... close your eyes for a bit?” she offered and this time Connor shook his head.

“Can't.” That was all she would be getting out of him. It was true, he couldn't close his eyes, couldn't go to sleep.

Every time he closed them, he would see piercing blue eyes stare back at him in the darkness.

-=-=-=-

He gave them time, as much time as he could force himself away. It wasn't much, but enough to convince the doctors to allow him to stay the night, and through sedation as Connor underwent surgery. It seemed like a lifetime since he saw his son.

But he was doing the right thing. The two clearly had a bond, perhaps it would help them sort things out. Absence certainly made the heart grow fonder after all.

Though he quickly realized, upon re-entry, that it was not the case. Myriam's head was down, looking between their intertwined hands and Connor's eyes fell on him the moment he entered the room. As if the lad had waited for his return.

That shouldn't make his heart skip a beat at the prospect. He was angering himself, being selfish. Connor needed support damn it he was... taking part of that away by inhibiting their relationship.

Yet he knew for a fact no one being could tear him away from his son. "They're ready to start." He'd apologize for cutting their meeting short, but he wasn't particularly sorry as he resumed his rightful seat, taking his son's hand. "They're going to sedate you, so you'll be under for all of it... maybe catch up on some well deserved rest." He nodded in Myriam's direction; she took the hint and straightening herself out, bidding them both a good night. The doctors followed shortly, Haytham sitting through the entire procedure with Connor's hand in his own, far past his state of unconsciousness.

He fell asleep with his chin tucked to his chest, hand still clutching his son's.

~*~

It was all over the news the next day, in every paper and on every channel. William filled him in over phone as he desperately searched the hotel kitchen, having paid good money to be allowed it's access. Blasted Brazilians and their seeming hatred of pizza.

 _"I'd hate to have him wake without you here, Haytham."_ They were keeping an eye on Connor in hospital, who was still sleeping off the sedation. It was a good a time as any to find some proper food for him.

"I'd hate to subject him to the swill hospital staff refer to as food, William." Honestly, jello? Carrots and peas in a mush? Whatever the hell that oddly brown, breaded meat was? No. Not for his son.

Not that mushroom pizza was exactly the epitome of class but the boy would need food with all the antibiotics pumping through him. Food that wasn't _disgusting._

Shit, he'd have to do without the grated parmesan cheese. Well, the pizza was good and ready at any rate; Haytham packing it away in a borrowed cake box (give someone a twenty around here and they'd do anything) and carried it out with him, the hospital but a few blocks away.

"How is he?"

_"Asleep, soundlessly. The anesthetic definitely did it's job."_

Haytham sighed, somewhat relieved. He was expecting horrible nightmares truth be told. Of course Connor could be having them and could be silent about it. Another problem to tack on the list.

He wanted them both to go home. He knew he'd have to wait but he could give injections and change bandages. He wanted Connor messing up his house with empty Mountain Dew cans and burning toast. He wanted loud action movies and the lad insisting he wasn't tired and falling asleep by his side. He'd missed the foolish comedies, the naiveté in terms of perversion... he missed _him._ He just had no idea how to go about saying that.

_"... Are you even there?"_

Shaking his head, Haytham crossed the street and walked through the hospital entrance, pizza and a liter of Mountain Dew in hand. "Yes, yes, sorry, what?"

 _"It's Connor..."_ He could hear the frown in Williams voice. _"He's... looking like he might be having a nightmare."_

"Well wake him then!" Haytham picked up pace when William responded with a shaky voice. _"I can't! He freaks out every time I touch him."_

It took him but a moment to reach the floor, the door already open as Myriam too tried to approach him. Haytham set everything aside, going to the foot of the bed. "Lad, calm down. We're here, you're not in the Pit anymore. You're with me, Connor." He dared touch his forehead, fingers moving hair from his face. They had washed it a bit as he slept, fingers sliding through with practiced ease. "I'm here, Connor. I'm not leaving."

-=-=-=-

The smell was back, and it was as disgusting as ever. Of blood, filth, urine and feces... the whole place reeked of it.

One would think that you'd get used to it after so long, but the ammonia still burned through his nose and throat each time he inhaled.

The wet sand stuck between his toes as he walked... though it was more like mud than anything else, and redder than you'd expect. The stench of blood was thickest here as he dragged his feet through the sludge as fast he could; enough blood had been spilled here it had turned the sand into drab. It covered the walls, dribbling down the creaks and crevices, and it dripped form the ceiling, falling into his face every time he looked up.

He had to keep going. He had to move forward, keep on running. They were right behind him, and if they caught him...!

But his surroundings were making it difficult, near impossible. It wasn't just the bloody mud that slowed him down, it were the people with him as well; they were lined along the walls on either side, the spectators who paid good money to see young men beat and kill each other for their enjoyment. They were covered and smeared in blood though it did not seem to affect them, and all were sneering and laughing, pointing their fingers at him and grabbing at his clothes and arms, trying to tug him back, to make him fall.

Connor desperately tried to shake them off, to bat their hands away and duck underneath grabbing fingers. He could _not_ get caught again! Horrible things would happen if they did!

The hallway abruptly changed, the bloody mud making way for smooth stone that covered the floor of their cell block. The spectators disappeared as well, now replaced by rows of pit dogs. They did nothing as Connor passed, they just stared with their cold dead eyes, their gazes piercing right through him.

At the end of the hallway was a door, and Connor knew that if he could reach it and get through, he could escape this place and get away from those who were chasing him. He ran, expecting hands to grab him any second and pull him back kicking and screaming, dead eyes watching and staring. He reached out and grabbed the door handle, yanking it open... finally free-!

_Bang!_

A bright flash of light, and Connor felt himself knocked backwards by some powerful force, the ground rushing up to meet him. The hard floor knocked the breath out of him as his back hit it, and a figure stepped through the doorway, smirking down at him with a grin. “ 'ello, boy-o.”

Cutter raised his pistol, still smoking out of the barrel and stepped over him as Connor pressed his hands down against his stomach before lifting them again; they came away dripping with blood.

“Didn't think you could get away now, did ya?” The barrel tapped against his head and he quickly squeezed his eyes shut, tasting blood in his mouth. Oh god Cutter was going to rape him again, hurt him again! He was going to take him back!

Hands fisted into his shirt as Cutter tried to pull him onto his feet, laughing in his face. “Up you go, Connor! We have people waitin' for ya! Silas did not appreciate you runnin' away like that.”

He tried to fight it, to push Cutter away, beating his fists on his shoulders desperately and ignoring the constant stream of “Connor, Connor!” until he opened his eyes... and found blue staring back at him.

“K... Kadar?”

Kadar quickly let go of his shirt and stepped back. Bewildered and confused Connor looked around but there was no sign of Cutter, and as he glanced down the bullet wound in his stomach was gone as well. “You... you saved me.”

Kadar shrugged. “I did. Again.”

“I... I'm sorry. I... did it hurt?” He didn't really want to know and he already regretted asking as Kadar's eyes darkened.

“I was beaten to death with a bloody bat, what do you think?” Kadar replied coldly and stepped forward; Connor recoiled before he even realized it and raised his hands. 

“I'm s-sorry, Kadar. I tried to make it as fast and painless as I could, I swear! If they had-”

“You didn't try hard enough, did ya? Maybe I should beat you to death with a bat, see how you like it.”

Shaking his head quickly Connor blinked, trying to keep the tears from blurring his vision too much. Why? Why would Kadar say such things? Weren't they friends? He backed away further until he bumped into something solid. Turning around it was Kadar who suddenly stood behind him, but one look at his face had Connor outright screaming and jumping away.

It looked like Kadar's skull had split down the middle. His head was at an odd angle, the neck clearly broken and the left side of his skull had caved in, turning into a dark red mess of brain and bone shards. It obscured his left eye as blood freely streamed down his nose and out of his mouth. The only thing in his face that wasn't red and damaged was one bright blue eye, sitting in his right eye socket, staring, unblinking.

Connor awoke with a loud scream and surged upright, banging his head against Haytham's.

-=-=-=-

"Shit!" So much for calming the lad down. He nearly knocked himself out again with that collision, Haytham grabbing his head and almost stepping backwards. He'd expected Connor to at least react to the pain, but he hadn't.

Instead he was greeted with sobs and broken apologies, but not directed at him. He caught the words, the jumbled mix in between sobs, something like Kayder or something... repetitive, babbled apologies to whoever the young man was.

It didn't take very long to figure it out, Haytham's eyes softening around the edges. He turned to Myriam, viewing her panicked face and William, who was caught between acting and looking horrified.

"Go downstairs, get something to eat." A nurse happened by at the constant beeping of the heart monitor. "Should we sedate him?" It was asked in broken English and not cruelly, she seemed just as worried as anyone.

"I'll handle it. William, downstairs with Myriam." It was clearly upsetting her, and she allowed herself to be pulled away with little struggle, telling the nurse that they would alert anyone if they needed medical assistance.

He made sure the door was locked before climbing into the bed with Connor, his back pressed to the wall as he cried. And for once, he wished he was better at comforting him.

He wouldn't tell him it was alright anymore; it clearly wasn't. There were wounds that may never heal, and he wouldn't make an empty promise. Instead a tentative arm embraced his son, guiding him so his head would rest on his chest, continually stroking his side, his back, whatever was in range as Connor squirmed. So much for pizza brightening his day.

"A dream, lad. Just a dream. Try to calm down and tell me what happened." He glanced down, daring to place a small, quick kiss to Connor's scalp. "... Or you can talk about something else." Anything except crying. There was something unsettling about seeing his son cry.

-=-=-=-

It took quite some time for Connor to calm down, but Haytham's presence and the arm around him helped. He didn't resist as he was pulled closer – perhaps even on an unconscious level he could identify his father by touch and smell alone. His face pressed into Haytham's shirt, fingers soon following and Connor pressed as close as he could, seeking out the familiar warmth and comfort.

The anesthetic was still having an effect; it was difficult to shake the images away, even when already half-awake, always returning to the forefront of his mind again. Haytham's voice seemed to come from far away, but it was soft, and soothing, and low. It gave Connor something to focus on, something he could cling to, to pull himself out of his nightmarish daze.

His squirming slowly lessened, his body stilling and relaxing, though the light tremors that traveled up and down his spine and through his limbs remained. The beeping on the heart rate monitor was still fast, but no longer as frantic as it had been before, and still slowing.

When he finally opened his mouth to speak his voice was barely audible, and heavy with exhaustion. “I have to find his brother...”

A wet spot had formed on Haytham's shirt, but Connor's eyes were open now, blankly staring at the far wall of the hospital room. He could hear his father's heat beat, even feel it from where his head rested on his chest. It was calming, so steady and soothing.

“Kadar asked me to... I have to... pass on his last words.” His breath hitched as he inhaled deeply, and slowly Connor lifted his arm to wrap out over his father's stomach, gripping his shirt tightly. Finally comfortable, and feeling safe.

“We shared a cell... became friends... the only one I had in there. He had been there for... for three years already. Taken after a botched military mission, he told me. His brother has a-always thought he had died on the battlefield.”

But how was he ever supposed to find his brother? All he had was a last name, and the name of the city they used to live in, but who was to say that his brother hadn't moved on?

Raising his head Connor looked up, just enough so he could look his father in the eye. “We have to find him, dad.”

-=-=-=-

Listening, it was the only thing Haytham could do, really. Besides acting as a sort of human stuffed animal. Surprising enough, he found he didn't mind, given the circumstances. It was odd, but not unpleasant.

Last words? Yes, he could understand the desire to carry those on. Still... Connor did kill someone's brother. Granted it was in no way his fault, not in the slightest, but... Haytham couldn't stop himself from thinking of the possibilities.

He had told his son to do so, and was sure if the situation was reversed the other man would have done the same. And while Haytham wouldn't have held it against the young man, his rational was far different than most. Emotions were high surrounding a family member's passing. He knew that much personally.  
"... Let's see how they react to the news. Give them time to cope, and we'll take it from there." A soft whisper, and Haytham's hands never faltered, running over Connor's back. "William will make the arrangements. First, let's tend to you, alright?" He stayed put for the time being, sure to speak to any doctor available.

Connor needed to go home. Brazil offered nothing but painful memories.

~*~

It took a great deal of convincing, but he'd managed. A private plane escorted them back. Well, Connor and he. Myriam and William left, but in a separate plane to keep the press at bay. He'd also tried to find Kadar's brother... a difficult feat. It wasn't an entirely unpopular name... but if they could find his son, they could find this man too. It was the least Haytham could do.

From the small Westchester airport, there was a low press turnout, Haytham remained unresponsive as he walked Connor to their car, Pitcairn tossing him the keys and sending a nod Connor's way. Lucky they sent someone who knew better than to ask questions.

Connor clutched his hand for most of the trip, which was beyond fine with Haytham. He sat on a down pillow, attempting not to aggravate the stitches. He still needed penicillin daily, but it would only be another few days before the syphilis cleared. The stitches could be removed the following week.

Naturally that was least of Haytham's concern.

He lead him inside quickly, a dismal press turn out which was excellent. It allowed him to get Connor situated. The lad needed a long shower and food in him. He wasn't eating properly.

On top of it... they still needed to talk. And now that they were alone again... it seemed imminent. And Haytham had never been particularly good at expressing feelings; he was having a difficult time adjusting to Connor's new found need to touch or hold him constantly (again, not that he minded. It was simply different.) He... didn't particularly feel like being rejected again to boot.

If he was honest with himself, his feelings were still somewhat hurt. He simply ignored them in favor of carrying his son's belongings and ushering him inside.

"Alright lad, go shower. I'll order a pizza and change your bandages when you're through." Perhaps watch that Pirates of the Caribbean movie for the fiftieth time, simply because Connor often stared at Johnny Depp until he salivated. It was endearing in an obvious way.

He'd have it all set by the time Connor redressed. It was... good to be home with him at last.

-=-=-=-

Coming home had never felt so good before. The familiar street (even with the press present), the lobby, the elevator with its mirrors, the plush carpet under his feet and the creak of the front door. Fuck, he had missed this place, Connor actually had to pause in the hallway and let it all sink in. 

This is where he belonged. Here, in this apartment, at his father's side.

He nodded silently and reluctantly removed his fingers from around Haytham's hand; it felt so silly to him, this constant need he felt to hold onto his father's hand like a young child. So... immature. But he couldn't help it. He knew that he was safe here, that Haytham wouldn't leave him behind or anything, but he still needed physical confirmation that he was _here._

They were home now though... he could afford to let go for a little while.

The bathroom was just like he remembered; spacious, clean and white, with the large fluffy towels he loved so much, and the rounded bath tub. He hadn't taken a real shower in three weeks; even at the hospital he'd had to make due with sponges and warm water because of his injuries.

He stripped out of his clothes slowly, clothes he had borrowed from his father because he had held nothing else on him except the filthy rags Silas had made him wear. As he stepped under the hot spray he had to resist the temptation to forgo the washing cloth all together and use his fingernails to scrub himself clean until he bled. He wondered if he'd ever feel clean again...

The water turned brown after a few minutes; working the knots out of his hair proved to take the longest, tugging at his scalp as he carded his fingers through it. Cutting it off would make it so much easier, but... no, he'd manage. 

… he really needed to shave too, and not just on his jaw either.

In the end Connor spent a good hour standing under the hot water, cleaning and scrubbing and rubbing wherever he could reach. He still felt dirty as he finally stepped out, but that was all in his head, he knew... but it didn't make it any easier to ignore.

He dried himself off with one of the large fluffy towels and took his time with a razor and plenty of shaving cream, until his jaw and the sides of his head were smooth again like they were supposed to be. Now he felt a little more like himself again. He left the rubber bands out of his hair this time, not wanting to bother with it, and pulled on some fresh pajama pants, the soft material rubbing pleasantly over his skin.

Draping his PJ shirt over his arm as Haytham still had to help him with the bandages Connor clicked off the bathroom light and left, padding into the living room bare footed. His father was already seated on the couch, remote in hand and the TV showing the menu of Pirates of the Caribbean. On the table rested a large, steaming mushroom pizza, as well as a couple of cans of Mountain Dew, just waiting to be devoured.

Haytham was trying so damn hard to get him comfortable and feeling safe again... and it worked, but Connor had yet to figure out how to let him know. Saying 'thank you' didn't feel like it would suffice... too simple. But he'd worry about that later; walking over to the couch he climbed onto it and scurried closer to his father until he was pressed up against him with his legs pulled up, head resting on his shoulder as his damp hair trickled cold water down his arm.

He was _so_ glad to be home...

-=-=-=-

He'd fully expected Connor to take a while, and spent his time readying everything for him. Bandages and scissors sat next to the pizza, Haytham not even bothering with plates; Connor rarely used them when the box was ready and quite frankly he didn't give a damn if something spilled on the carpeting. He would again at some point, but now it seemed immature.

He stopped himself from checking on Connor quite a few times; he wasn't going to disappear, he knew that. Or part of him did. Haytham sighed, wishing he had something to distract himself with, but the idea of picking up his laptop and working seemed like an unnecessary burden.

He couldn't have been happier when Connor finally came to it, hair and jaw shaved, bare feet padding against the carpet. Bruised and far thinner than he should be, but there. Alive, by his side. His wet hair dripped onto his shirt, and before Haytham would have snapped at him to dry it better. Now he simply raised an eyebrow, giving Connor a moment before repeating softly. "Bandages lad. We'll resume the rest later." Because admitting to cuddling was still odd for him.

Haytham left to get a towel, depositing it into the dryer until it was warm, and brought it back to Connor. And he should have just given it to him, but seeing him on the his couch, alive and waiting for him, Haytham motioned for him with one hand. Kneeling in front of him, he squeezed the ends of his long, thick black hair before softly drying it, one of the few times his touch wasn't just simply careful. 

Even in it's messy state about his face, he resembled his former self again. Haytham found himself fingering his damp hair, eye level with Connor. So many thing he wanted to say, and none of them felt right. He settled with the smallest of grins, cupping his son's cheek briefly. Looking at him was even comforting.

"I'm glad you're here." It sounded horribly obvious, Haytham letting go of his cheek reluctantly to bandage his ribs. The bruises were yellowing at the edges, scratches healing; the only real big scar Connor had would be on his chest, where the machete had sliced into his skin. Of course it spoke nothing of internally, but one thing at a time.

As he finished wrapping his bandages, he turned his head upward to see Connor looking down at him, perhaps in deep thought. What he thoughts about was beyond him, but Haytham looked back regardless.

He was handsome as ever. Even when they first met he'd thought so. Smooth skin, dark and muscled, even in his skinnier state he was... he didn't have the word for it. Dark hair fluffed out a bit, dark circles graced his face, and yet Haytham could not turn away from him. He calculated his odds of getting syphilis from what he was about to do, almost laughing to himself. Was he really considering contracting syphilis just to do this? Just to make a point that he couldn't seem to vocalize?

His lips pressed to his son's in a chaste kiss, a long peck followed by a few shorter ones. It dawned on him that this might not be the best idea, but the majority of his brain ignored it, Haytham pressing his forehead to Connor's. His lips tingled pleasantly. He smiled at the look in Connor's eyes, shrugging.

"... You shouldn't be contagious anymore. If you are, it was worth it anyway." He regretted nothing about that moment, sitting next to Connor again and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. God it was good to be home with him.

-=-=-=-

It was... nice. Unexpected, but nice. Before, his father would have never bothered with this, getting a towel for him, warming it up even. Even going so far as to dry his hair for him. Perhaps Haytham was feeling guilty, or maybe he simply did this because he was glad they were both home again. Either way, whatever the reason, Connor would enjoy the pampering while it lasted. After what he had been through, a little pampering wouldn't hurt.

He lifted his arms out of the way as Haytham began wrapping fresh, clean bandages around his torso. It screamed 'injured', but the bandages beat looking at all his bruises and healing cuts. He'd have scars after this, in more than one way. Truthfully, he didn't even particularly mind the long cut on his left pectoral; it had been cleaned and stitched neatly, but when healed it would remain visible as a thin white line. Kadar had given him this during their fight with the machete; it would serve as a reminder, to make sure he would never, ever forget about him (not that he ever would forget), just like how the one rib that was healing a little crooked would serve as a permanent reminder of what Cutter had done to him. Connor had decided to leave the rib healing the way it did for exactly that reason.

They were injuries with a story, stories that should never be forgotten.

His brown eyes remained on his father's face as he finished with the wrappings and looked up, unblinking. There was something in his father's eyes that was familiar; a sort of... adoration, if that was even the proper word to use for this. Connor hadn't thought he'd ever see that look again after that disastrous Skype call, and yet here it was... and so he didn't move away as Haytham leaned forward, his intentions clear.

Connor allowed the kiss, though it was more a peck than anything else, with no tongue, but it said so much. The corners of his lips twitched up, his smile genuine this time, and he nodded. He still felt confused, still didn't know if Haytham was giving him another chance, or whether this had just been a spur of the moment just now. He hoped it was first, but he was afraid to bring up the matter about their Skype conversation.

He said nothing as his father sat down next to him, and leaned into the embrace of his arm as the movie started, the pizza box in his lap. He had seen this movie so often already he could almost dream the dialogue – and even though Johnny Depp was never a bad thing to look at – Connor found he just couldn't keep his attention on the movie, no matter how hard he tried.

He had to ask. He had to know.

“I'm really sorry, you know.” he muttered as he took his eyes away from the TV and prodded a half eaten slice of pizza. “For lying about being alone. I should have...” been honest with him. Connor sighed and offered a small shrug. “It was wrong of me, and for that I'm sorry. Me and Myriam... that won't happen again.” Of that he was sure... they would always remain friends, but too much had happened and Connor didn't want the intimacy anymore. Just the idea of even hugging her made his stomach churn for reasons he was sure Cutter had something to do with. Still, he could tolerate Haytham's touch, craved it even... and that told him all he needed to know. If he had to make a choice between Myriam and his father, the choice was clear.

But whether it would even make a difference after everything, that he didn't know.

-=-=-=-

He tensed, but not intentionally, nor out of discomfort really. He... hadn't expected this conversation so soon.

Nor did he foresee this outcome.

He kept his surprise as muted as possible. "You were not entirely clear on what I assumed was our relationship." He paused the DVD and placed the pizza on the coffee table. He simply wasn't the type to state the obvious, he had presumed his subtle actions had been enough. They weren't, clearly.

"I suppose my own lack of specification is at fault to an extent. I assume everyone realizes my intentions regardless of explanation." Namely because he didn't explain himself and often did what best suited his current needs. He wasn't concerned about the thoughts of others, just his own interests. The problem was, he was interested in Connor. And Connor didn't share the sentiment. Or at least he hadn't.

"You needn't halt the relationship on my behalf, lad." No, he didn't want pity or guilt swaying his decision. That was dubious at best, and he wouldn't have it. "We feel differently. It occurs."

-=-=-=-

Well yeah, Haytham should have been more clear about what he wanted when he had asked whether he was alone or not. At least he admitted to being partly at fault here. Just assuming that everyone understood was... well, stupid.

“There was no relationship, remember?” He shifted, his eyes on the TV again even though the clip was paused, showing Jack making a silly face. “It was just... physical. Just sex, with no strings attached. And I've always thought that, what we did, was exactly the same.”

He knew what had prompted Haytham to make that first move on the day after his mother's funeral; he had done it because he resembled her in so many ways. He had done it because Connor reminded him of her. And he hadn't minded at the time, because he had been mourning too and Haytham was his only family left, and despite them still hating each other, he just wanted the contact, some physical confirmation that he wasn't alone. Even if it led to incest. They weren't hurting anyone with it after all.

No, never had Connor felt that it had been more than just sex. What else was it supposed to be? Despite whatever feelings they had for each other, they were still father and son. It would never be accepted. It would always have to remain hidden.

But... was that even so bad? Who cared about what the outside world thought, right? Haytham clearly didn't. 

“How do you even know what I feel? I don't even know myself anymore.” Sighing deeply Connor rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and gritted his teeth. He just wanted some damn clarity on the matter. Just what was he to Haytham exactly, safe from being his son?  
Clearly he wasn't meant to be a convenient lay, or meant as purely stress relief. Just a willing bed partner but nothing more, as he had always assumed. So what else then? A lover? His mom's replacement? _What?_

“You didn't mean what you said, did you?” he asked after a moment and dropped his hand in his lap again. “You pretty much called me a... I'll have you know I've only slept with four different people.” Well... five if you included Cutter, but he most definitely did not count!

-=-=-=-

He remained calm, despite his eye twitch. Of course even what he had just said was somehow misinterpreted. He supposed that wouldn't change either, they were never on the same page. Sometimes they weren't even reading the same book.

And he didn't fight the scoff when Connor asked him that, eye narrowing. "I already stipulated that I did not in fact mean it. I was angry with you for being a dolt." Which he was being _now_ but he was ignoring it for obvious reasons. With a fair amount of effort.

The agitation diminished somewhat as he met his son's eyes, averting his own. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead inserted the tip of his finger, biting lightly. There was no way to say this without outwardly admitting his own feelings. There wasn't a subtle way to put it.

The faintest heat could be felt in his face, Haytham continuing to bite the tip of his finger. If Connor would bring this up now, no doubt he'd bring it up again shortly. He would only grow stronger, better with the passing time after all.

He tapped his lip once, voice barely above a whisper. "I wished for the gesture to say what I could not." He straightened out, carefully putting on his usual mask, but not before sighing. How else could he explain it to him? It didn't seem like Connor understood his methods, his motivation, even after all this time. Perhaps it was better that way. He should focus on healing anyway.

"It's not important." He grabbed the remote and turned the movie back on, diverting his attention. He didn't wish to embarrass himself any further. If Connor couldn't figure it out, perhaps it was for the best.

-=-=-=-

Connor waited, carefully watching his father's face. He was doing the whole biting-his-finger thing again, which usually meant that he was nervous or not sure about something.

He blinked slowly... Haytham had openly displayed himself on Skype in front of a webcam. Yes, it had been a clear sign of trust, but had Haytham meant it to mean more?

“It is important.” Oh no, they were talking this out _now._ Connor reached out, his fingers finding the TV remote in Haytham's hand, and quickly pressed the pause button. They were talking in circles here and it wasn't getting them anywhere... maybe a direct approach would finally break the dam and get his father to tell him what he wanted.

Connor's hand cupped his cheek and turned his face towards him, meeting him halfway there; it was more than a peck this time, lips pressing a little harder as his tongue slipped out to broadly, wetly sweep over the seam between Haytham's lips a few times, daring to prod between them a bit. It lasted only for a few seconds even as Connor slipped his hand into greying hair, fingers idly toying with the ribbon that kept it tied back into a ponytail as he pulled back again, keeping their eyes locked.

“Stop beating around it, dad. Clearly I'm not smart enough to understand your vague hints, I get it, I'm not an emotional genius. But you're making it really hard for me. Do you even have any idea how difficult you are to read? Most of time I don't even know what you're thinking because you're always so damn guarded! Is it really any wonder I don't understand what you really want, when you refuse to be clear on the matter? Just thinking that you're being clear and automatically expecting me to get it is _not_ enough.” It was no fucking wonder their communication was crappy.

Connor sat back slightly, sucking his lower lip between his teeth to worry at it. He knew what _he_ wanted. Even though he couldn't stomach the idea of being intimate with someone else, he did want back what he had with his father. It had been... special, even if it was considered wrong by society. He liked it more than anything he had ever done with Myriam, maybe _because_ it was his father. If he couldn't trust his father with it, then who?

Cutter had taken a lot from him, but he wasn't going to allow the rape to ruin what he had with Haytham even more.

“I know what I want, dad.” he said, the words coming out a lot meeker now. “But I don't know what you want if you don't give me the chance to understand. Do you want what we had to continue, and work on it? Then _tell_ me, so I don't make the same stupid mistakes I made before because I don't understand what you want from me.” If Haytham couldn't, or wouldn't even be clear about what he felt and wanted in a way he could understand, then this would never work out to begin with. And he would never bother to ask again. 

-=-=-=-

Irritated, Haytham turned to reprimand Connor. He didn't want to talk, not about this, and certainly not now. He'd have said as much if he wasn't caught off guard.

It was... not much more than before, but more than enough to make him freeze. He hadn't expected this, not for a long time. He barely moved as Connor's tongue pressed the seem of his lips and gained minimal entry, Haytham still and silent. Especially as Connor began speaking again.

He was being clear, damn it! Not direct perhaps, but clear enough. Honestly did Connor not retain and apply knowledge in their conversations? His son simply wanted him to admit to feelings he had outwardly, a task Haytham wasn't accustomed to or acquainted with, and quite frankly he didn't wear his emotions on his sleeve. Enough happened in his life that such an idea was simply not permissible.

But then... it was like an ultimatum, in a meeker package. Do things my way, tell me what you want or... he didn't have to be said. He could read between the lines, and part of him wanted to walk away.

It was like being backed into a corner. He felt as though he were trapped, a caged animal with the walls closing in around him. If it were anyone else he'd walk away. 

But he'd fought to get him back, didn't he? For weeks he tried every maneuver, every procedure, spared no expense to get Connor back. Would he really let pride get the better of him now?

His nail snapped in two under the strain, a wince leaving him but little else. Panic wasn't something he felt often. He didn't cope well, the copper taste in his mouth a reminder of that. He sat by, thinking, unable to meet Connor's eyes.

"Never do this to me again, Connor." It was a threat, what Connor was doing, Haytham could see that. He meant to threaten himself, but it sounded rather empty, even to his own ears. " I'll say this once, and only once, and you _will_ remember it." A deep breath and Haytham removed the finger from his mouth, sending it an irritated glare before forcing his hands to his sides, staring at his son's face.

"You'll recall I mentioned being fond of you some time back? The way I'm fond of William if you will." Excluding the sexual aspect but that went without saying. 

"I don't quite know when, but after... after the obvious displays of affection with Bianca, I grew..." He searched for the word, not particularly liking the one he picked but no other one fit. "... conflicted with urges that border lined on jealousy... After I became more aware of you and your behaviors and drew the conclusion that I quite..." Any attempt to make this menacing faded with the substantial amount of flush on his cheeks. "... I developed feelings of affection towards you."

His face burned, so very horribly. He averted his eyes, jaw clenched as he glared at the remote on the table, the angry expression melting into more of a pout. "Since I'm being _direct_ because _someone_ can't read between the _lines,_ I developed feelings for you, lad." This was undignified and grueling. He hated this. He hoped Connor made his damn decision and it _better_ be him after all of this was said and done.

"Letting you... see me in a state of need, as I thusly portrayed on Skype, was supposed to show my attempts at forming a trusting relationship with you by expressing my almost constant desire.” Tomato red. He'd passed pink long ago, his face practically aflame. 

"So, needless to say, viewing you to be coupling with Myriam, I'd thought... her importance had surpassed my own and was..." Hurt. Unbelievably hurt, which was what lead him to lash out. "... a bit affronted and acted callously."

He couldn't bare to look at him. He simply could not do it. He could deal with wounds, he could deal with anger, but _this?_ "My feelings have not wavered, I simply suspected you would prefer her 'comforts' if you will due to her youth, or your similarities." Or her ability to communicate in a straight forward manner without offending him or making herself turn into a bloody beat.

"So..." It was like swallowing a bucket of rocks, his throat ached with tightness, and he pressed play on the movie, completely ignoring Connor's face in favor of staring blankly at the screen and waiting for his face to stop doing whatever it was doing to make him feel like he was on fire. "... I'm going to go drink now." Until his liver drowned.

-=-=-=-

Connor recoiled slightly and quickly pulled his hands back into his own lap, glancing down. He had never meant to make it all sound like a threat... he just wanted to hear the truth. The clear, honest truth. No vague hints or bits of conversation he was supposed to dig a meaning out of. Just the truth. Was that really too much to ask for?

But the more he listened, the more Haytham told him, clearly struggling with the words, it dawned on Connor that his father was, for once, actually making an effort. His own heart beat sped up and his own face turned a little red, though no where near the fire engine red that Haytham was displaying now. He looked like a traffic light!

Haytham had clearly jumped to conclusions about him and Myriam, and Connor had done the same thing. They were both faulty but at least now... now he really understood. The relief he felt was nearly overwhelming.

Connor reached out as Haytham made to stand up for a quick trip to the liquor cabinet, and grabbed his sleeve, tugging him back down on the couch. He leaned forward, trying to meet his eyes as his lips pulled back into a small smile. “Coupling? Really? You can just call it fucking, you know?” Geez, it was 21st century, who still used the word 'coupling'?

Still keeping a tight grip on Haytham's sleeve Connor wrapped his arms around it tightly, and rested his chin on his father's shoulder, his lips near his ear. “All joking aside, that was exactly what I hoped to hear, dad. Thank you.” he whispered. He meant every word of it too, because this meant that his father was willing to give him another chance. And he'd do better this time, try harder.

“For the record...” he shifted, removing his chin in favor of leaning his full weight against his father once again, and his fingers slipped down to stroke over the palm of Haytham's hand before they slipped between his. “I've already made my choice.” Unconventional as it was but if Haytham didn't care than he wouldn't either. “And it's not Myriam.”

The kidnapping had been good for one thing at least... it had made him realize just how important his father truly was to him, and how much he needed him. Connor tightened his hold around Haytham's; if it were up to him he wouldn't be letting go for quite some time either. 

He could heal, he could get over what had happened in Brazil in time. And he wouldn't have to do it alone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings for this one (unless you count sex and big doses of angst as a warning).
> 
> Important to note though, considering my usual upload rate - once every four days in the evening - the next chapter is scheduled for 21 February this Thursday. However, that is my 26th birthday! So, chapter 12 will either be up earlier that day if I can make it, or a few hours later, or it may be even pushed back to Friday morning. It all depends, but I'll get it up as soon as I can, I promise. ^-^
> 
> -Necro

A week passed by slowly. Connor spent most of his time as a couch potato, in bed or seated in the window overlooking the Atlantic, taking it easy. When he was restless he followed his father through the apartment, watching him, talking with him, having silly little arguments over nothing, like what to have for dinner or what movie to watch.

Now that Conner knew where he stood with his father, and vice versa, things had relaxed around them significantly. Not that they _did_ anything, he still was in no condition for anything too taxing, but he felt like he had broken through one of the many walls Haytham had erected around himself, and that he was one step closer to getting to truly, _truly_ know the man. Had he known what he knew now back when he first met his father, he wouldn't have been such a dick blaming him for everything.

Not everything was rainbows and kittens now though, just because they had gotten to an understanding together. Connor had barely gotten any sleep since they had arrived home, and the few hours of sleep he did get during the night were often plagued with horrible nightmares that left him waking up drenched in his own sweat, entangled in his own sheets.

After two nights of him waking up screaming with tears in his eyes more than once, Haytham had moved him to his own room to share the master bed, hoping that his presence would help. It did, but barely, and after nearly a week of this the bruises on his father were evident, courtesy of his squirming and kicking in his nightmares in a desperate attempt to get away from whatever he was dreaming about.

He still had trouble keeping food down. Haytham bought him everything he liked, let him eat what he wanted and urging him to do so but he just... wasn't hungry anymore, and when he did feel hungry a few bites were enough to quench it. It didn't help that after a panic attack he usually ended up throwing everything back up again. He hoped that it would all pass with time, that it was just a phase, a process he had to get through to pull himself back together again.

At least the syphilis had completely cleared up; the doctor they had visited two days ago had confirmed it, and that had been the only time Connor had left the apartment since arriving here. He even avoided the large balcony.

His ribs were doing better, the infections had cleared up and his wounds were healing nicely. Still, Connor was far from happy at the moment and the reason for that was the fact that he was alone in the apartment now.  
Of course he and his father were in separate rooms often enough, but at least his dad would still be in the apartment _somewhere._ Not now though. Haytham had been neglecting his duties as CEO. For good reason of course, and Pitcairn, Hickey and Church had been all too happy to cover him during their 'stay' in Brazil. But even now, with William having returned to work as well, they couldn't manage. They needed Haytham's guiding on the spot, and so his father hadn't had a choice but to make a trip to his office this morning, with the promise that he would return as soon as possible. That had been three hours ago, and Connor was getting horribly anxious as he waited.

It was silly, but he couldn't help but remember that Lee _knew_ where they lived, and he was still out there somewhere, as were Cutter and Silas. What if they were looking for him? It was unlikely they'd ever get up here, but who knew? Or... or what if they tried their revenge on his dad instead, while he was on his way to work? What then? He wasn't brilliant like his father, he'd never be able to find him if they took him too!

He tried everything he knew to calm himself down, to distract himself; he tried watching TV and play video games. He tried doing the dishes despite having a dish washer. He tried cleaning his room as it was a mess, but the end result was even messier. He took a bath for a while, but even soaking in the hot tub for an hour couldn't relax him.

He couldn't... shake off the thoughts.

Connor flushed the toilet and slowly got onto his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; it hadn't been much, he hadn't bothered with breakfast this morning after Haytham had told him he would be going to his office.

He wondered if William had tracked down Kadar's brother already... Dragging his feet to the sink he grabbed his toothbrush and a tube of paste and glanced up into the foggy mirror. He couldn't see his reflection but he knew what it looked like; still gaunt, still pale, with dark shadows surrounding his eyes. He hated it.

He stayed like that for a while, leaning on the sink as he stared at his vague blur of a reflection in the foggy mirror, and finally raised his hand, pressing his finger against it and dragging it down into a curve to make the letter C. It followed with an U. T. T. E. R.

Removing his finger he stared at the name for a few seconds and then lowered his hand a few inches, the pad of his finger pressing against the glass once more.

S. I. L. A. S.

And underneath that... L. E. E.

Taking one step back he stared at the three names, letting them sink in, hearing their voices again... laughing, threatening, saying horrible things.

His fist flew forward before Connor even realized it, slamming into the mirror with a loud cry as the glass splintered under the force. Shards of it pierced the skin of his hand, blood already flowing freely, but Connor either didn't notice or didn't care as he ripped the broken mirror off the wall and threw it through the bathroom. A cabinet followed, its contents clattering onto the floor before he gripped the shower curtain and ripped it loose.

Panting he glanced down and swallowed thickly, staring at his trembling hand fisting the thin plastic, the other dripping blood onto the white tiles. His face felt hot and wet and he faintly realized that he was crying.

Biting down a sob Connor sat down, pressing himself in the corner of the wall and the hot tub and wrapped the ripped shower curtain around his body and over his head.

Why was this so difficult? Why couldn't he simply push it to the back of his mind and give it all a place, and move on?

Why couldn't he simply forget all the bad things, and get over it?

-=-=-=-

A mess didn't quite describe it, not in the least. While everything remained sorted, nothing was truly completed. Paperwork lined his desk, Haytham checking the time with a grimace. Bordering on three hours now. So much for a quick stop. Then again he's only expected to help in the laboratory.

That fiasco itself was two hours worth of work. The lab standards were not up to par, and while Haytham would gladly blame someone, the fact remained he was the only person qualified to maintain the facility. Gloves adorned, he cleaned and scrubbed the place as down as best he could, cleaning out the machines and fixing minor issues due to basic carelessness (such as food in the centrifuge, or products improperly labeled for HAZMAT disposal).

In the end he was exhausted and frustrated beyond comprehension. This was his company, granted, but he had more important matters to attend to, one of which being his son. Who hadn't been doing as well as he'd hoped.

The nightmares were the least of his worries. The bruises- while irksome- were tolerable. It was his attitude that he feared, caught between nonchalant and damn near fight-or-flight mode with anyone who wasn't him. While flattered he was an exception, this simply would not do.

Connor hadn't returned to school either, not that Haytham would allow him to- he wasn't ready. The professors had simply dropped him from the courses instead of failing him, allowing him re-entry in the fall, but Haytham questioned if such was a possibility. He wasn't worried about school itself per say, but rather his son's stability. The events in Brazil had impacted him worse than originally though. Connor would need to socialize sometime, or perhaps to speak with someone a little more educated on the topic of grief. He wasn't exactly known for his patient nature nor his emotional capacity.

He dealt with matters quietly, Connor did not. Put simply, Haytham wasn't entirely sure how to help him cope.

Frustration did get the better of him, and as a result he took some of the office work with him, intent on getting home. The lad hadn't eaten properly in a number of days...

"Connor?" It hadn't taken him long to get home, there was little traffic at this time of day. Setting his suit jacket aside, Haytham expected to see him sleeping on the couch or lounging about with head phones on full volume. Alas, he was not.

"... Connor?" Not in his room, but the bathroom door was closed. Haytham knocked once, twisting the door handle when he recognized the distinct sound of crying.

This was not unexpected, but something he had feared. Broken glass and blood about the floor, he ignored the strewn about mess and settled for sitting beside Connor on the ledge of the tub. He seemed to be getting worse, if anything.

"A nightmare, lad?" He'd let Connor initiate the touch, he was shaken enough already. "What happened?"

-=-=-=-

Connor stiffened, completely covered under the curtain as he heard the bathroom door open after a knock. Someone was coming in... was it dad? It was dad, right? Not Cutter? Or Lee? His breathing was heavy, shaking, hitching and he gripped the curtain tighter, as if it could somehow protect him from whatever was out there.

It wasn't until he recognized Haytham's voice that he relaxed a bit, albeit just barely.

No... no, it hadn't been a nightmare. If only it had been that easy. Nightmares were just that... they happened and they were horrible but at least those he could shove in a corner of his mind the following day. It was everything else he was struggling with.

“N-not a nightmare...” he whispered and he lifted the shower curtain just enough he could peek from underneath and glance up at his father's face with eyes red with tears. Connor kept his gaze for a few seconds and then dropped it, slowly leaned to the left until he was resting against Haytham's leg and pressed his face into the fabric of his pants.

“Nothing happened. Just... an accident.” Wrapping his arm with the uninjured hand around Haytham's leg he cleared his throat, swallowing down the lump he felt there. “I'm sorry about the mess.” It was true, he was sorry. And he'd clean it up... later. Once he was sure he could stand again without his trembling legs giving out under him.

“D'you have a... a t-towel or something?” His other hand emerged as well; the blood on it had dried by now, sticking to his skin in flakes, though the actual cuts where the piece of shards dug into his palm still bled a little.

-=-=-=-

An accident? He listened, looking at his son's bloody fist and the shards of glass on the floor, the ripped shower curtain in tattered pieces. One hell of an accident.

He didn't feel the need to make a point, rather tapping Connor's arm so he could move and offered him a hand. "Let's get away from the mess, yes?" He'd worry about it later, it wasn't going anywhere, and instead took the uninjured hand in his own, grabbing a wash cloth with the other and carefully avoiding glass to get the tweezers and a few bandages from under the sink. He left the cabinet opened and carried everything in the one hand, allowing each item to plop against the sofa as he seated Connor there.

No comment was made about his tears. Haytham instead wiped them away wordlessly. He should have grabbed antiseptic, but he'd make do with what he did grab, checking Connor's hand for glass shards .He did add one thing though, as he checked diligently, with a snort. "The mess is the least of my concerns." Like he gave half a damn about it. Wrapping his wounded hand, Haytham frowned. The moment he was done wrapping it, he lay back and extended an arm around Connor's shoulders. "... Lad, perhaps it would do you some good to..." He choose his words carefully. "... seek professional help?"

Connor tensed, and Haytham rose an eyebrow curiously. "Many people have sought professional guidance for less, lad. I certainly had to at some point or another." Granted it hadn't helped, but he was a different case; Connor was more upright, honest, less hidden and guarded even now. Surely the mere suggestion of seeing a therapist would be understandable to the lad.

-=-=-=-

Connor reluctantly unwrapped his arm from around Haytham's leg and took his hand, allowing himself to be pulled up on slightly wobbly feet.  
He followed closely after his father, careful not to step on anything with his bare feet; he kept the shower curtain wrapped around him as well, as he had just finished taking his bath before his fist had found its way inside the mirror. He had nothing to hide, but right now he wasn't interested in waltzing around naked.

He sat down the couch without a fuss, not making a move as Haytham dabbed at his eyes with a cloth to dry the tears before turning his attention on his bleeding hand. There weren't a lot of shards, nor were they too deep fortunately, but Connor's face still scrunched up in a wince every time the tweezers carefully pulled a piece out of his palm. With the wet cloth most of the blood was wiped away, and Connor watched and stared in silence as his father wrapped bandages around his hand, cutting the strip off and securing it in place.

He leaned back, burying himself against his father and already felt his eyes begin to droop – panic attacks and crying always made him tired – but Haytham's words had him fully awake again in an instant. Jerking away he turned, fixing him with a wide-eyed stare. “What? You mean to send me to some... some... some psychiatrist?” he asked. Oh hell no! He wasn't fucked in the head! … not that much anyway!

“No. No! Forget it! Absolutely not!” He quickly jumped up, wildly shaking his head as he did so as the curtain slipped down his shoulders. There was no way that he was going to tell some... guy or woman he didn't even know his story. “There is no fucking way in hell...! I'm not doing it, I don't need it!” 

-=-=-=-

He was wearing a shower curtain, sopping wet, pacing in the living room in a full blown rant.

Of course he didn't need _therapy._

Desperately wanting to comment on the matter, Haytham instead simply walked away with a sigh, procuring a towel from the closet and stuffed it in the dryer for about a minute. "What's wrong with seeking someone to talk to? You talk constantly." Or rather he did, something Haytham found himself missing. 

Rolling his eyes, he yanked the curtain off his son's frame and dried his hair first, moving to his shoulders and chest before allowing him to take over. After everything, he was still damn near edible.

Which is why Haytham stepped back and let his son take over. The last thing he needed to do was scar him further.

"I'd consider it a personal favor if you'd allow William to find someone worthy of your time." He waved his hand grandly, walking to what was honestly their room, grabbing a pair of pants and some bandages as he spoke, loudly. " I'm not declaring you divulge your deepest secrets, but this may occupy your time in a matter that's conductive." Better than punching himself bloody with regret, anyway.

Throwing the pants on the couch, he readied the fresh bandages, careful to avert his eyes. He hadn't seen Connor fully nude in sometime and quite frankly he was still a man. "It'll help Connor. It'll give you someone to talk to who isn't..." Emotionally stunted? Feeling-challenged? "... the irritation I would be."

-=-=-=-

Connor actually glared at him this time as he neared with a warm towel, nearly ducking away when it was tossed over his head and fingers pressed down on his scalp. He wasn't doing this. He was _not_ going to agree to this, no matter Haytham's reasoning. He didn't fucking need fucking therapy! He just had... issues, that's all.

He quickly finished drying himself off as Haytham moved into their bedroom to get him some pants and fresh bandages, tossing the damp towel on the floor as his father returned. By the time he had readied the bandages though, Connor was already pacing through the living room, out of reach and completely ignoring the pants waiting for him on the couch.

“I don't need it. I don't need it.” Shaking his head and making wild gestures with his hands he marched back and forth, sharply turning on his heel whenever he reached a wall while muttering and grumbling to himself that it would be a waste of time and money, that it wouldn't help, that Haytham couldn't make him, until he abruptly stopped near the dining table and glanced up at the ceiling, his fingers clenching in his own hair. He stood like that for ten seconds or so, silent and breathing heavily until his head dropped again and his fingers laced together near the back of his skull. Fuck, no no no!

“I'm not crazy...” he whispered and looked up again, turning his head in Haytham's direction. His voice was soft and there was no denying the pleading undertone in them. “I'm not, I just have... some problems and I'll fix them myself but I just need some time and I... I really don't need to see a shrink, dad. I'm not... I'm not that fucked up!”

-=-=-=-

Had he thought this was the reaction he'd receive, he wouldn't have bothered. It was comparable to watching an asylum patient. Connor gripped and muttered wildly, at one point completely silent and whispering, just staring blankly at the ceiling. Haytham wondered if he should be perhaps more worried than he was.

Until he began speaking again. He was never a patient man. He was trying but he did not have the patience for this foolishness.

"Neither am I." Crossing his arms over his chest, Haytham sighed. Well, here came another embarrassing round of information sharing. It better help make his point. "I've gone, Connor. After finding out the man I'd been sleeping with was my father's murderer I conceded and went myself." That was all the information he'd give today, the end of his fuse reached.

"People see psychiatrists all the time. I see you have a notion that those who do are 'crazy.' That's your own hang up. It can help you. Will it? Perhaps. Might it not? Perhaps. The fact of the matter is I do not know and neither do you, now stop insinuating that I think you're crazy. You're not, lad." No, Connor was _acting_ a tad batty, but given the circumstances, he said nothing. Connor was many things, psychotic was not one of them.

He made a grab for the bandages, sighing before taking Connor's hand in his own. "As your father, I want to tell you to stop being obstinate and do as you're told." The very edges of his eyes softened, a thumb running over his knuckles. "... but that's not the side of me asking this of you." He let that sink in, kneeling and ignoring the nudity in favor of wrapping the bandages along his son's chest.

"... Try, just once." Exhausted, he looked up briefly, face neutral but clearly fatigued. "I'd consider it a great kindness."

-=-=-=-

… yeah but one couldn't exactly compare him to his father, he had gone and seen a therapist for very different reasons. He sighed, deeply, and his arms dangled uselessly at his side. “I dunno...” he mumbled, gritting his teeth as Haytham grabbed the bandages again. This time he didn't move away from him.

He frowned a little, thinking the words over as the bandages were tightly wrapped around his torso again, and his eyes flicked up. If he wasn't asking as his father, than who? His...? Oh.

Oh.

Connor swallowed thickly, taking in the exhausted look on his father's face. Ugh, he was being so selfish. The things Haytham had done for him to make him comfortable, dealing with his 'issues' and 'problems' with no (or little) complaint, putting up with his nightmares disrupting his sleep and taking care of his bandages every single day.

And here he was, making a complete racket about the fact he didn't want to see a psychiatrist for what he knew was quite serious, even if he felt he was entitled to not wanting it for good reasons. Whoever it would end up being, he didn't know him or her, he didn't know the place and it was bound to get very uncomfortable quickly.

Excuse him for not jumping up and down in excitement.

In the end though, Haytham only said these things because he was worried. Connor sighed deeply and closed his eyes briefly, scrunching his eyebrows together in frustration. “Will you come?” Who cared he was a grown-up, if he was going he wasn't doing it alone.

“I'll think about it... if you promise you'll come with me if I say yes.” 

-=-=-=-

... Well now, he hadn't expected that.

It defeated the purpose, in a way the point was confidentiality, getting things off his chest he couldn't normally. His presence would surely impede on that.

On the same note, Connor took a sort of comfort in his presence. The lad was beyond skittish with everyone but him, actually. Haytham had seen first hand how he had flinched and struggled even under Myriam and William's attempted care. There was something to be said of that.

That and, what was he truly unaware of? He'd seen the broadcast, had witnessed every turmoil they put his son through. There wasn't much he didn't know of his stay... it was simply that Haytham was not an emotional man. A third party may be insightful.

"You'll think about if I promise to go with you?" He raised an eyebrow, before bowing his head. When he lifted it, it almost bore a smile. "I'll go with you in a week or so." He finished the last of the bandages, ignoring the light pop his knee gave as he stood. "Now put some damned pants on and find a movie. I have far too much paperwork to do today, you running around in the nude isn't exactly _helping._ " He didn't swat his ass like he wanted to, but he did grasp his hand and squeeze before he left to clean the bathroom. Meddlesome little fucker...

He felt himself smile. It was nice to have his pain in the ass back.

-=-=-=-

Connor gave a slow and reluctant nod. He wasn't able to return the smile, even though he was more than grateful that Haytham agreed to come with him. Before, he wouldn't have done that, would have told him to man up because he was a damn grown up and could handle himself.

Fuck, he was such a weakling... he _did_ have to man up!

“Good. Paperwork sucks.” he muttered, trying to lighten the mood a little. They used to flirt all the time, though Haytham was a lot better at perverted talk than he was. He didn't always seem to understand the innuendo for some reason. “I'd _hate_ to distract you by prancing around your desk _naked.”_

With that he grabbed his pants off the couch and disappeared into the bedroom. Granted, he felt a little better now.

After getting dressed in some loose sweat pants and a comfortable shirt, Connor soon found himself slouched on the couch once more, the TV remote in his hand, comfortable to watch a movie now that he knew that his father was working in the next room, close by.

About twenty minutes passed when Haytham's phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket; the screen flashed Myriam's number: _“Mr. Kenway? It's me... I'm sorry if I'm calling at an inconvenient time but... I was wondering how Connor is doing. And you as well.”_

She hadn't seen nor spoken to Connor since they had left Brazil, and she hadn't contacted them since, as she figured that Connor and his father needed some well deserved time together, after everything. Plus... she hadn't missed how tense Connor had been around her in the hospital, how distant, as if he hadn't been comfortable with her near. It worried her greatly... would Connor ever be the same again?

_“So... how are things?”_

-=-=-=-

He almost smirked, not so secretly watching Connor's hips sway as he grabbed his pants and left to change. Still far too soon, but at least the lad could flirt back. It was a start.

He's much prefer to set aside the paperwork and spit with his son, but it had been neglected for too long. It was easier to concentrate with Connor having calmed some, the hum of the television heard from the living room; he'd kept the door open. It was better for both of them that way. He could concentrate with the proximity.

Until the phone rang, of course. He couldn't help the awkward surprise that coursed through him at the sound of Myriam's questions. He couldn't help the trepidation; she was a sweet girl, a good friend to Connor. He knew that.

Just as he acknowledged her as possible competition. Words only meant so much, and Connor was desperate for peace now. Minds changed... hopefully it would not in this case.

"No inconvenience to speak of." His voice remained neutral. "I'm enveloped in the most rousing paperwork imaginable. Connor is..." he paused, sticking his head out the study. "... watching some animated cartoon, with his feet on the coffee table which I do not hate at all." If Connor heard him he ignored it, Haytham settling by his desk.

 _"Is he...acting a little better?"_

He didn't understand what better implied. "Well, he's starting to eat a little more." He paused, about to divulge information before halting. Why wasn't she asking Connor how he was doing? They were close friends at the least, weren't they? "Myriam, let me put Connor on." Because this conversation was beyond awkward and made little sense. She said something but he ignored it in favor of moving to the living room and tossing Connor the phone. 

"Myriam. She's concerned." Hell so was he, but she wasn't acting quite herself. And he had a feeling it had to do with him

Which naturally made their conversation more awkward. Because he didn't have enough awkward moments to deal with.

-=-=-=-

Connor was already shaking his head, voicelessly trying to make it clear that no, he did not want the phone, but Haytham had already tossed and Connor had to scramble to catch it lest it broke. He sighed, burning his eyes in his father's retreating back and reluctantly put the phone to his ear. “Hi.”

 _“Hi Connor.”_ Silence, and Connor gritted his teeth, until; _“How are you?”_

Ah of course, the all important question. And he did not want to go into specifics. “Doing better.” Hey, it wasn't a lie, he _was_ doing better than a week ago.

_“How are your ribs? Does it still hurt a lot?”_

“No, they're fine. Healing.”

_“Good, I'm glad.”_

Silence again, and he resisted the growing temptation to hurl the phone against the wall. He understood that she was worried but honestly, he did _not_ want to talk to anybody right now, no one who wasn't Haytham anyway.

_“You still don't have a new phone?”_

“No... gonna order one soon I think.” But really, this phone call wasn't just to interrogate him about his lack of phone, right? “Is there something you want, Myriam?”

He could hear her fidgeting on the other end of the line, and he almost apologized... he wasn't doing this on purpose, being so... distant towards her, so curt. He kept the sorry to himself though... maybe later.

 _“I was wondering if...”_ He heard her take a deep breath. _“If perhaps you'd like to... hang out again sometime? Do something fun. Some distraction might help.”_

Oh fuck, no. That meant leaving the apartment. He didn't feel ready for that yet, and he also didn't want to invite her here. But telling her that would be... cruel? Mean? “Maybe...” he finally muttered as he ran a hand through his hair, fingering his ponytail. “But I don't know when. I don't feel like going out.”

_“Oh. Yeah, sure, I get that. It was just an idea...”_

“Some other time, okay?”

_“... yeah, okay. Connor?”_

“Hm?”

_“Are you... are you sure you're alright?”_

Again, he didn't answer immediately. What was he supposed to tell her? No, he wasn't alright. Far from it and now his father wanted to send him to some shrink because he had trashed the bathroom in a fit of rage. He couldn't tell her that though... that would just make her worry even more. Couldn't do that to her.

“I'm... doing better, Myriam. It takes time.”

_“Yes... yes, of course.”_

'Yeah... tell Shaun I said hi?”

_“Will do. And... Connor?”_

He squeezed his eyes shut, glaring down at the phone with an angry stare – give it a rest already! “Yeah?”

_“Your father... he's a good man, Connor. Look after him as well, okay? I'm sure he needs you just as much as you need him even if he doesn't show it.”_

Connor swallowed thickly and glanced in the direction of the study where Haytham was working. Myriam was right. She was absolutely right. “I will... thanks, Myriam. I'm... gonna hang up now, okay?”

_“Yeah... okay. Bye Connor.”_

“Bye...” With a click the call ended and Connor lowered his hand, staring down at the phone with an unreadable look on his face before he stood up and made his way to the study. Haytham was bent over some papers, writing something down as Connor placed the phone on the desk and walked around it. It felt a little weird, doing this... before he would have never done this, simply because he knew that Haytham wasn't the cuddle type, even though he was putting up with his son's need to do so now because of what had happened. That didn't mean he liked it.

“Dad?” He waited until Haytham looked up from whatever he was signing, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, burying his face in his neck, inhaling his cologne. “Thanks...”

-=-=-=-

He'd let Connor say what he wanted in privacy, even though he itched to know what was being said. It was none of his business, not really. They had been friends for a long time, surely she was just worried. At any rate, he had paper work to do, a lot that had neglected because of his... emotions concerning Connor. Ugh. He hated emotions for exactly that reason.

"Dad?" Haytham turned several minutes later, and tensed.

It wasn't intentional, nor was it unwanted. Just unexpected. Arms around broad shoulders in a grip of sorts, Connor's head in his neck... he should return the gesture. If just felt bizarre, foreign.

He settled for tentatively running a hand up and down Connor's back. He didn't know what Connor was thanking him for, nor did he care. Some of his tension ebbed away, Haytham going as far as to rest his head against Connor's. It really wasn't that bad.

He was more than content to linger, his muscles beginning to untighten, when his cell phone rung yet again. Not many people had his number, it was probably important. Luckily, he had another arm.

He set the phone to speaker, arm still running over Connor's back. "Yes?"

 _"Haytham, you left before I could give you the news."_ William sounded downright exuberant, undoubtedly bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

"What would that be?"

_"I think I've found him, Kadar Al-Sayf's brother."_

That did get their attention. "Where?"

 _"Cincinatti, Ohio. A veteran soldier with an honorable military discharge. His name is Malik Al-Sayf, and he shares a residence with an..."_ There was a pause, William attempting to pronounce his name. _"Al-ta-ir? I'm not quite sure how to say it, nor will I try to attempt his last name, but we believe this is him, based on the military background. He was apparently discharged after a failed raid. But... it says here his brother died in that raid."_ A pause, and William sighed, tired. _"Would Connor know anything that might help verify this man's identity?"_

-=-=-=-

Connor was all ears immediately, leaning down on Haytham's shoulders as he stared at the phone. They had found him! Kadar's brother! And so soon too, he had expected it to take a couple of weeks at least, but William had cracked it in only a week! Bless that man!

“No no, it fits. It totally fits!” Oh man he hadn't felt this excited in a long time... not that this really was anything to be excited or happy about, considering the reason they were trying to find Kadar's family: to pass on his last words. But it was so very important to him that this was done sooner rather than later... this Malik, if he truly was Kadar's brother, still didn't know anything.

There had been a lot of bodies after the raid on the Brazilian underground facility had ended, but Kadar hadn't been among them. What the FBI had found though was some kind of huge incinerator, one that wouldn't have looked misplaced in a crematorium. It made sense, as gruesome as it was to think about... Silas needed a way to efficiently dispose of bodies; no better way than to burn them to ash, and it was more than likely that Kadar had suffered that fate as well.

“Kadar had told me some things about his time in the military. Not a lot, mind you, but enough and though he never mentioned his brother's name, he did mention an Altair! This is him, William. This is Kadar's brother!” Of course there was still the tiniest chance that he _wasn't,_ but hey, what other lead did they have? Surely there weren't a lot of Malik Al-Sayf's who lived with an Altair around, who also happened to have a younger brother who had presumably died, as well as having a military background. It all fit!

“Dad, we have to go. Right now.” Removing himself from his father Connor grabbed his sleeve and tugged. “Forget the paperwork for now. Lets go!”

-=-=-=-

Haytham blinked, taking Connor's hand in his own for a moment, stroking his knuckles. "William, have you contacted them already."

_"Can't say I have, no."_

"Well, do so immediately. And if all seems fine, we'll go after your confirmation." He watched Connor's face fall with as much neutrality as he could. Yes, Connor wanted to give the boy's last words meaning by telling them to his family. Connor was also extreme with his naiveté.

This man lost his brother to _Connor._ Granted Silas was the true monster but when emotions ran high the truth was often distorted. Additionally, Kadar's body had never been found.

The possibility of an issue was almost guaranteed, and on the off chance that Malik was not the emotional type, he was still hearing his brother's last words. That was doubtlessly painful.

 _"Will do, Haytham. I'll get back to you both shortly."_

The phone clicked, Connor glaring at him now. Haytham reluctantly let go of his hand, sighing. It was for his own good. He didn't see it, and he often didn't, but it was for his own good.

"When I'm confident it's not a possible hazard, we'll go Connor. But not a moment sooner." He was not risking anything, not anymore.

-=-=-=-

Connor frowned, clearly not agreeing with the decision. How could it be a hazard? It was the truth and yes, the truth hurt but wouldn't Malik be happy to learn that Kadar had held no grudges and that he had loved them until the very end?

Christ, he'd go himself if he had to! Preferably not, but this _had_ to be done. It had been Kadar's final wish, it couldn't be ignored.

He paced around in front of the desk, not taking his eyes off the phone as he walked back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. Fuck, they should already be in the car right now, on their way to Cincinatti! This was taking too long! Dammit William, _call!_

“I don't get why we're waiting.” he grumbled. “It's gonna be a shock to him anyway, whether he hears it from me face to face, or from a nameless voice over the phone. What do you think will be worse?” The latter. Definitely the latter. This wasn't something anyone could prepare for, and William didn't even know everything.

Frustrated Connor slammed his hands on the table and leaned forward, still eying the phone, mentally willing the thing to go off already. Call, dammit!

-=-=-=-

Haytham tried his best to let his irritation subside. Connor was upset, Connor had experienced a lot of trauma and tended to take it out in bursts of anger. Holes in the wall, shattered mirrors, the occasional punch to the face. Had it been any of those things- while he would have been aggravated or even seething- Haytham could deal with it.

It was his know-it-all attitude that he could not _stand._

"You are trying my patience beyond anything today." Fingers tapped his desk, Haytham resisting the urge to scowl. "Let's see Connor, what would be best? What would you with your infinite wisdom do? No, wait, let me guess- you'd drive to their house, knock on the door and give them Kadar's last words, right? Then when they asked how you knew what they were, what would you say _then?_ That your father told you to bludgeon his head in to save your own life? How exactly would that go over, Connor?" Haytham pushed away from his chair, shoulders tense and eyes smoldering. Hadn't this fiasco taught Connor anything?

"People can't be trusted under the best of circumstances, let alone ones of this nature. The possibility remains the man is level headed. It's equally as likely that he's not, and instead tries to lash out. He's an ex-military man. Injured or not, how quickly can he pull out a gun, Connor? Are you willing to bet your life on me pulling out one faster?" 

His face didn't match his tone, the neutrality of his voice couldn't compete with the fire in his eyes. "And what of his friend, hm? How can I definitively say you'd be safe doing this? The answer is I _can't_ until William assesses the situation at least minimally, and I will not risk _your_ life for a dead man." The naiveté exceeded even his expectations, Haytham so close to Connor he could hear his pulse thud.

"Pardon me for being overcautious, _one_ of us needs to be." A few seconds passed and the phone rang again. Haytham pointedly ignored it, leaving his room and slamming the door behind him. Let Connor deal with this then, since he was clearly not handling this to Connor's liking. As if this would be a cake walk, the lad was beyond dense at times, and his inability to listen gnawed at his nerves.

-=-=-=-

Connor actually backed off, walking backwards slowly as Haytham advanced until he hit the wall, and turned his face away. He even went as far as to press his hand against Haytham's chest, pushing lightly. He didn't need to see his father's face to know he was angry, even if his voice didn't betray anything. Haytham rarely yelled or even raised his voice, even when pissed and this was no exception... but Connor had caught the angry fire in his eyes. For some reason, why he didn't even understand himself, his desire to see this through as quickly as possible had hit all the wrong buttons. 

He wasn't often intimidated by his father, but now was one of those times.

He flinched as the door slammed shut, swallowing thickly and felt his eyes burn as he slowly turned his head. Haytham was gone, having left the study and the phone was still ringing. Feeling his heart beat wildly in his chest, accompanied by the nauseating feeling of fear in his gut – a feeling he had really begun to hate especially because it wasn't even justified in this case, but it was something he had no control over – Connor made his way back to the desk and picked up the phone, accepting the call. “William?”

_“Connor. Is Haytham around.”_

“No... something came up.” That was all William needed to know. “Did you contact Malik?”

_“Yes and no. Firstly, we did find the right people. I got a hold of Altair, briefly explained that we had some information regarding Kadar and would like a chance to explain in detail face to face.”_

“And?”

_“I'm not sure he believed it. He was very... flat, over the phone. Hard to tell what he thought about it. Either way, whether it was true or not, he said it was something he had to discuss with Malik first and that it would be his decision whether he wants to see you or not. Malik wasn't home and won't be until tomorrow evening. I gave Altair my number and he said he would call me back after he talked with Malik. When he does, I'll let you know what Malik decided. That alright?”_

“Yeah... yeah, that's fine.”

_“Pass this information to Haytham when he's finished doing whatever, 'kay?”_

“Will do.”

_“Chin up, Connor. You're not alone in this.”_

“Thanks William...”

The call ended and Connor slowly dropped the phone, staring at the screen. Now there was even more waiting ahead of him, waiting until Altair called back. What if Malik didn't believe it and refused to see them?  
Tightening his grip on the phone Connor suddenly raised his fist in the air, as if to smash the device against the floor, but after a few seconds he slowly lowered it again. No... frustrated as he was, smashing his father's personal belongings wouldn't help the situation. If anything, it would only serve to piss him off even more and prove a point, whatever it was that his father thought about him now.

Instead he placed the phone back on the desk and left the study, softly closing the door behind him and made his way through the living room towards his favorite spot near the window. Seating himself on the broad windowsill he pulled his legs up and leaned against the cool glass. He tugged the hoodie far down over his eyes he sighed and fisted his hands in his pockets; angry. He was angry, at his father too. He may have had some valid points there, but still...

Fucking hell, Connor knew he wasn't as smart, wasn't as intelligent as Haytham was! He knew he tended to wear his emotions on his sleeve for all to see and often got so caught up in his own excitement, or anger, or what have you, that as a result of that he didn't always foresee every possible outcome of things, unlike his father, who did.

Even so, Haytham had had no right to back him into a corner like that and grind his heel into his views, making him feel like a moron. How was that supposed to help things? It wasn't like he was doing it on purpose! 

Haytham had it fucking easy; he wasn't the one hearing Kadar's voice repeating those last words in his mind over and over again; he wasn't the one who saw piercing blue eyes staring back at him whenever he closed his own. He wasn't the one so clearly remembering the crack of bone, the loud thud of the bat as it broke Kadar's neck, the thud of his body falling into the sand, the feeling of his skull splintering under the force of the blows, reverberating through the bat... the feel of hot blood and... wet _bits_ flying up into his face, followed by the loud cheers of the spectators and the soft chuckles coming from Cutter and Silas.

Haytham didn't understand that he was _desperate_ to see this through as soon as possible, so that he could give Kadar's death a place and let him rest. 

-=-=-=-

The door to his bedroom shut, Haytham uninterested in what Connor was up to. Far too aggravated, he'd rather read his book and cool off, far away from Connor.

He didn't understand, did he? His naiveté was far too great; people were not to be trusted. He had been kidnapped, raped, forced to fight and forced to murder in brutal conditions... and he wanted to just waltz up to a man he had never met and admit to murdering his blood? 

Beyond aggravating, it was reckless and senseless. Perhaps Connor's mind hadn't changed in regards to people, but Haytham wasn't a damn fool.

Even so, as some time passed, it became apparent that Connor wasn't in the mood to talk to him, either. Well fine. It wasn't as if he'd done something wrong. He'd merely spoken his mind, as he should have, and had every right to. He was his father, he could damn well say as he pleased.

Still, what had William said? Perhaps Malik hadn't wanted to speak to him. Understandable and for the best, really. Although, admittedly, Kadar's sacrificed did merit his last words would be transferred. But not in exchange for his son's safety.

He kept the book with him, but transferred himself to the couch in the living room, eying Connor. His back looked tense, the reflection from the window revealing him to be angry. He shouldn't even be angry, Haytham should be angry.

"... William say something upsetting?" Because it sure as shit wasn't something he did. His eyes remained glued to the book, eye brow raising. He cleared his throat and repeated the statement. Connor remained unresponsive.

... Was this... no. Grey eyes narrowed, the book dropping to the floor. "Stop ignoring me and answer the question." Honestly, this was juvenile! This was immature!

... this was effectively pissing him off.

-=-=-=-

Connor remained silent and only shifted to tug the hoodie further down his eyes. His eyes remained on the scenery outside, though sometimes they flicked over to his father's reflection in the glass. Childish maybe, but no, he wasn't going to answer the question. If Haytham wanted to know what William had said, then he shouldn't have fucking stormed out of the room when he called! If he wanted to know he could go and call William himself, dammit.

He only turned his head when the book dropped on the floor, to give his father a stare from under the rim of his hoodie, one eyebrow raised, and then rolled his eyes before returning his gaze to the window. Dad wasn't the only one entitled to be angry, and Connor felt his actions justified. Let it be more than clear that he did not agree with Haytham's reasoning, even if he had made some good pointers.

Couldn't expect him to understand, clearly... Haytham had seen it happen, but he hadn't _been_ there, and perhaps that was the problem.

Gritting his teeth he swung his legs back to the floor and turned, resting his back against the window. His hands remained folded in his lap as he stared at his father, still silent, still brooding. He was pissing his father off by doing this, he knew that... but perhaps that was what they needed. A big fat argument, getting it all out of their systems and then... something. He didn't know.

-=-=-=-

His eye twitched, lips simultaneously falling downward. This was beyond ridiculous, he couldn't even have a conversation with the lad! How would anything be resolved if he couldn't converse?

Honestly, this stubborn streak just highlighted his immaturity! Crossing his arms over his chest, Haytham glared back. Fine, he wouldn't talk to Connor either! There, they can all be immature together.

... except that would bring him down to Connor's level.

No, Haytham practiced what he preached. Where this boy had acquired his stubborn streak from, Haytham could only guess.

"I want to talk to you, you're being obstinate and uncooperative, stubborn and absolutely unwilling to bend or cooperate and it's..."

He looked at their reflections, pausing. Identical looks of irritation, the same eye twitch... and a chortle left him. He pinched his nose in irritation, but his lips twitched upwards. Out of all the things he inherited, it had to be _this._

"You've inherited my personality traits, lad. At least my inability to cooperate with others. So be it." He'd leave it be. He wasn't going to submit to this level of immaturity for whatever reason his son found to be angry. He'd calm down eventually.

He'd just call William and find out for himself.

-=-=-=-

Connor's eyes narrowed... why was he smiling? Why was he- oh balls.

Well his personality traits sucked!

“It's not that.” he hissed and crossed his arms over his chest, his whole body wound tight in agitation. “What I have an issue with is your attitude and the way you handle things. Oh, and I'm _sure_ it's mutual, I'm not that stupid despite what you may think. I am _not_ expecting you to even understand. After all, how could you, huh? You saw but you weren't there, you could _never_ understand what it was like.”

Slipping down from the windowsill he straightened and his arms uncrossed, curling into trembling fists again. “I want this over with, dad! I want to let it rest and give it a place and I can't do that until I finish this! And no, I am not going to risk my life for a dead man, as you say, but that dead man was the only person who kept me alive in there! Without that dead man, I'd be dead too. Without that dead man you'd be left alone as well! I owe that dead man my life, and I want his brother to know that, preferably today rather than tomorrow. Did you really think I would tell him _how_ it happened, give details on how I... I smashed his head in because my father told me to? What kind of an _idiot_ do you think I am?“ 

Pausing Connor shook his head and raised his hand, glancing away. “No wait, I rather you don't answer that one... but the fact of the matter remains, dad, that I want this _finished!_ I want this done and over with! I want to give it a place and let it rest, because I can't rest myself until I do so. So perhaps I was a bit too eager for your tastes when William called, but can you truly, honestly blame me for that?“

Again he stopped and Connor turned, turning to face the window again and reached up to fist the material of his hoodie in his hands. He stood there, taking deep breaths as he stared at the Atlantic, before his shoulders slumped and he turned again, glancing over his shoulder. “And the only thing you do,“ he said softly, his voice meek, a stark contract from the near yelling he had been doing before, “is corner me and tell me that I'm wrong, that my eagerness to see this through right away is foolish and that I have to wait _even longer._ And yet you wonder why I am angry now. That's because you don't _understand,_ dad!“

-=-=-=-

Haytham wasn't often floored into silence. Yet he now found himself unable to say anything, and not just anything of use. He couldn't conjure a single word.

He felt caught between his feelings -both the need to protect him in some fatherly way and his desire to keep him within an arms reach.

Admittedly, his son had a point. And while naive, he wasn't stupid. Haytham didn't understand Connor the same way Connor didn't understand him. He simply hid it better.

The phone was forgotten in favor of him standing closer to his son, looking out at the Atlantic. A cloudy day, low lying clouds drifting as the fog extended gradually. He could still see the blinking of a light on an adjacent dock, a red flicker that shimmered through the haze.

That was his focus as he spoke. "I never called you stupid. Naive, stubborn, emotional- not stupid, Connor." He took a deep breath and sighed, hands clasped behind his back as moved closer just slightly. But Connor even moved from that, Haytham's peripheral catching the movement. "Perhaps we can both concede to misinterpretation. You're still going to go, after all." Moving closer again, Connor stepped aside, avoiding him completely.

Another sigh, but this time Haytham moved quickly, no subtle hints about it. Granted he shouldn't surprise the lad with touches but damn it, he had something to say, something obvious that pushed him far from his comfort zone. Connor struggled but his arms were tight around his shoulders, lips pressed to his ear.

"I want to keep you safe, lad. You are all that's left in a long line of death and destruction. Am I overprotective and aggressive? Yes. Am I sorry for it? No. You can disagree with me, with my methods, and I with yours. It will happen, often, doubtlessly." They were simply too different to avoid that.

"Just because we don't agree doesn't mean I can't respect you, and by extension, you're decisions. I don't wish to see you in harms way, that is the sole reason for my hesitance." Haytham inhaled, nuzzling Connor's hair. It was barely whispered, honestly. "I'd rather anger you and accept your avoidance, than have you happy with my allowances and have you dead."

-=-=-=-

Connor hissed, struggling against the hold Haytham pulled him in. He pushed against him, even beating his unbandaged fist against his father's shoulder in an effort to force him away, but Haytham held on tight, pulling him close against his chest as he softly spoke into his ear.

Already, Connor felt his eyes burn again and he fought to resist it. He had cried enough already, and dad had seen him cry more often than he cared to count... but he couldn't stop it. His heart felt like it had lodged itself into his throat, making it hard to breath as he slowly, bit by bit, lessened his struggles until he was limp against his father, and his hands reluctantly came up to fist the material of his jacket.

This had been the big argument the needed. He just hated having to do it this way, just to reach an understanding.

“William said he'd call back tomorrow...” His voice came out muffled as Connor pressed his face into Haytham's shoulder, no longer trying to get away but instead holding onto him tightly now. “They're the right guys but Malik wasn't home. The other guy said he'd ask and... leave the decision to him. William said he didn't sound like he believed any of it.”

And what if they didn't? That was something he really didn't want to think about.

He swallowed thickly and raised his head enough to rest his chin on Haytham's shoulder, tightening his hold on him as he opened his eyes and furiously blinked through the tears to clear up his vision. “Can we... do something fun?” He knew Haytham still had paper work that had to be done but surely... surely that could wait? “A movie, or... or a video game. Just... something? Together...?”

-=-=-=-

He couldn't get accustomed to hugging, not really. Perhaps in time he wouldn't mind it with Connor quite so much. Still, to have him here, beside him, was better then he knew.

"Why not both? I'm not going anywhere." No, here was where he belonged.

Halo, Chinese, The Avengers, and halfway through The Departed, Connor had fallen asleep half onto Haytham's chest, atop of his bed. It was a better day than Haytham expected, fingers stroking through Connors hair. He'd worry about the rest tomorrow.

~*~

Mid afternoon William had called, Haytham answering while Connor showered... again. He seemed to take showers a lot more often these days, usually at least twice a day... to be expected though.

"Yes?"

_"I've some news for you. It seems, despite his skepticism, Malik is willing to meet with Connor."_

Haytham hesitated, finger tracing his desk as he glanced towards the bathroom door. Another break from the mountain of paperwork wouldn't do much harm. Or rather, he simply didn't give a damn if it did.

"How did he seem, William?"

There was a pause before William 'hmed' into the phone. _"He's not entirely sure what to believe. From what I gathered, he thought his brother died years ago. He's... cautious, if not a little suspicious. However, he seems to be level headed."_

Haytham frowned, contemplating. "Enough to merit a visit?"

_"I'd say so, if Connor's up to it. I can certainly take him."_

"I'll discuss it with him and get back to you." Hanging up with a sigh, he knocked on the door to the bathroom softly, speaking through the door. "Malik answered, he'd like to speak to you in person." He paused, lips twitching. "But I have some requirements before you do so."

-=-=-=-

There was a flurry in the bathroom, the sound of the faucet being turned off, followed by some muffled cursing until the door suddenly yanked opened. Connor stood there, dripping wet with strands of black hair clinging to his face, his eyes wide open; at least he'd had enough sense to hide his lower body behind the door.

“He does?” He had just called? Oh fuck yes! Not that this was something to look forward too... the conversation would undoubtedly turn very uncomfortable and emotional at some point, but he was so eager to get this done!

“Yes, yes! Sure! Yes to the requirements, when can we go?” Now? Could they go now? Well... not now, he was still naked, but as soon as he was ready, yes? Fuck, where were his clothes? Clothes!

“What requirements?” he called back as he left the door and scurried back to where he had draped some fresh clothes over a chair, hopping on one leg as he tried to get his pants on. It would be quite a drive to Ohio but that was fine with him. He blinked slowly and walked back to the door as he pulled his zipper up. “You... are coming with me, aren't you? Your paperwork can wait.”

-=-=-=-

Shouldn't he at least hear his requirements before agreeing? Typical Connor. Though he did muster a slight grin. "My paperwork can combust in a cataclysmic explosion for all I care. Coincidently lad, it was a requirement of mine. I wish to be present for the duration of the conversation." 

And why wouldn't he be? If anything happened he needed to be present. If nothing happened, he was emotional support at the very least. Perhaps not brilliant emotional support, but he offered something.

"William will take us there, I'll make the arrangements. Just get ready, eat something... we won't arrive until well into the evening." He doubted Connor would wish to make unnecessary pit stops, no matter how ravenous his appetite could be. "We'll leave shortly." Might as well put this behind them, maybe then Connor would be able to sleep a full night with some peace of mind.

-=-=-=-

Connor did as he was told, quickly dressing and combing his hair until he was presentable before dashing into the kitchen to raid the refrigerator. Granted, he only made himself one simple sandwich but the prospect of finally getting to do this seemed to have awakened his appetite a bit. Better enjoy it while it lasted, he was sure that before they arrived in Cincinatti his panicky nerves would return to plague him.

William arrived thirty minutes later. With him driving Haytham could stay in the back with Connor, who was surely going to need the moral support once they neared their destination. He spent most of the six hour drive with his headphones on, keeping his hoodie once again pulled far over his eyes to block out the scenery and flashing cars outside out. He still didn't like going outside; probably it was just paranoia but Cutter and his men had knocked him down and dragged him into a car on the street. Granted, no one had been around as he had been walking through a rundown neighborhood at night, but they must have followed him for a while before striking... outside wasn't safe.

It was a long drive and indeed, Connor was reluctant to make pit stops, even though William did pull over on the parking lot of some highway restaurant because he desperately had to use the rest room. Connor fidgeted until he returned, his hand unconsciously seeking out that of his father to squeeze.

Near the end of the ride the nerves were visibly showing. Connor had put his headphones away and was pressed as far into his seat as he could, his face pale and a little sweaty. His eyes were a little wider than normal as they stared at the back of the driver's seat, his fingers still holding a tight grip on Haytham's hand. He kept quiet, mostly because he feared that if he said anything he might throw up all over the fancy interior of William's car.

Finally William pulled into a quaint looking neighborhood, the navigator proclaiming that they had reached their final destination. The neighborhood looked nice and clean, with lots of trees and comfortable looking houses, though they were on the small side. As William parked Connor pressed himself against the glass and peered up at Number 32; the front yard was small but well kept, and a few potted plants stood in the windowsill of the living room, as well as a woven basket holding a sleeping cat.

William turned in his seat and gave Haytham a look before he glanced at Connor. “Ready?” Unable to answer vocally he offered a stiff nodded and unbuckled his seat belt with trembling hands, trying to keep what he knew was a growing panic attack at bay as best he could. Getting out he waited until Haytham walked around the car to stand next to him, and William locked the vehicle before leading them towards the front door of Number 32.

With one last glance over his shoulder Wililam rang the doorbell and stepped back, waiting; within seconds a figure appeared behind the mottled glass and they heard the sound of bolts being unlocked before the door opened; the man standing in the doorway was tall and lean, looking to be somewhere in his late twenties and wore simple dark grey sweatpants, no socks and a white vest with the hood up; coincidently it wasn't even too different from the one Connor wore. He said nothing as he stared at them with eyes that were almost an unnatural bright shade of amber, and Connor noted that the man had a long, prominent scar on his lips.

William cleared his throat and extended his hand in a greet: “William Johnson. I'm the one who called.” 

Amber eyes flicked to his face and the man slowly extended his hand as well, shaking it and William winced at the firm grip. “Altair.”

Resisting the urge to rub his hand as Altair let go William gestured to the others. “This is Haytham Kenway, Connor's father, and Connor himself.”  
Connor only managed a nod and extended his hand as well after his father nudged him in the back. Altair's eyes widened slightly before narrowing as he took and shook it, before doing the same with Haytham and motioning them inside.

“Malik! They're here!” he called up as they passed the stairs and led them to the living room, which, while again small, looked inviting and comfortable. The cat was still fast asleep in the window and as they all took a seat on the couch after having taking off their coats and the like, a second cat came running out of the kitchen, jumped up and was clearly intent on making itself comfortable in Haytham's lap.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee, beer, something else?”

“Oh, coffee please, thank you.” William said and glanced at Connor, who nodded, indicating that he would like the same but again the words wouldn't leave his mouth. They hadn't even started and this was already so difficult. He hadn't even _seen_ Malik yet and Altair... that guy, those eyes, were intimidating.

-=-=-=-

Nervous didn't quite describe his son, Haytham practically pushing him to make him extend his hand. And not a word, not a single word passed his lips. Altair, hm? His hand shake was solid, strong. Eyes a dark amber, quite the serious, penetrating gaze. Not that he blamed him, under the pretense of their presence.

A quaint home, furniture that was needed being the only pieces about the room. They weren't well off, no. Haytham sat down, fairly surprised as a cat immediately jumped into his lap, settling down.

Well, there went his clothing. He'd have to lint brush his pants immediately. Though he made no move to place him elsewhere. He'd always preferred cats to dogs.

"Quite fine, thank you." Altair's gaze settled on him, almost as if he wanted to ask a question. He didn't, going to fetch the coffee, Haytham turning to Connor. Not a word, he simply grabbed the hand beside his, squeezing.

He was here for a reason. If his son needed him to talk for him, to support him, then so be it. Absentmindedly he stroked the fur of the cat beneath him, an instant purr reaching his ears as he heard duel footsteps?

Looks like they were about to meet Malik.

~*~

His arm itched. Particularly his wrist, a habit that developed over time. A combination of agitation and nervousness, if it could be called such.

It was more weary than anything, doubting even. He heard Altair before he saw him, his eyes averted, looking at anything but him.

Such had been the habit as of last night.

"They're here."

"So I gathered." It wasn't as dry as it could be. This was taking a toll already, and he hadn't even seen the kid.

Dead. His brother was dead. For three years that's what he was spoon fed. His grieving was done, the healing process well under way; Altair had found a way back into his life amongst the calamity, and Malik and he had finally become friends again. Not without begrudging moments but it was better.

And now, Kadar had been alive all that time? He'd grieved for him when he could have bonded with him again?

Clearing his throat, Malik walked past Altair, his silent, apprehensive voice calling out a little too late. "Malik, there's something you should know..."

But he was already in the living room, eyes taking in the sight of Haytham Kenway and his prodigal son, his cat seated comfortably in his lap. He had his doubts... but this... with these people...

"Haytham Kenway." The surprise was kept from his voice, his sole arm extended for a shake. "Malik." Dark eyes locked with the kid. A child. Younger than his own brother, fear in his eyes.

"Connor." It wasn't soft, but it wasn't as harsh as it could be. He seated himself across from him, swallowing thickly as the other cat jumped from the window sill and curled in his lap. "... You've information on my brother."

More of accusation than a question, his voice holding as much curiosity as it did contempt.

-=-=-=-

Malik was... not what Connor had expected. Hadn't he known that he was Kadar's older brother, he would never have guessed it. They were so... different. Connor had expected to see blue eyes on him too, but instead Malik's eyes were dark, nearly black, like bottomless pits, and angry.

That guy gave him the creeps.

And then there was the arm, or rather the lack of it. He had a hard time not looking at the empty sleeve of his shirt, pinned up against the shoulder, until he realized that his stares was most likely impolite; quickly turning his attention on Malik's face as the man sat down on a chair, Connor couldn't help but wonder... was the loss of his arm the reason he had been honorably discharged from the military? Was it caused by the accident Kadar had mentioned, the one he had refused to share details about but was the one that had led to his capture? He supposed he'd never know... he sure as hell wasn't going to ask!

"… You've information on my brother."

Connor glanced down again, tightening his grip on his father's hand. Already he could tell that this wasn't just a sensitive topic, this was a very, _very_ sensitive, very _sore_ topic for the man. And that made telling it not any easier.

“Y-yeah, um...” Shit, where was he supposed to start? “You... um, you saw those news reports? About the big raid in Brazil nearly two weeks ago?”

Malik stiffened slightly and narrowed his eyes. Yes, he had seen them. Hard not too, it had been all over the news, and this kid had been directly involved, and so had his father, who had been partly responsible for getting the raid to happen. It had been some kid of criminal organization that dealt in human traffic, or something like that. What did that have to do with Kadar though? “I did. What about it?” Don't tell him... don't tell him that Kadar...

Connor fidgeted, digging the nails of his free hand into his leg as he struggled to find the right words. There simply was no easy way of saying this, no way to lessen to blow, to make it hurt a little less. Might as well just say it... he took a deep breath and glanced at Haytham, swallowing thickly at the tiny nod he received and gritted his teeth as he looked at Malik again. “Kadar... he was there as well.”

The reaction he got was pretty much as expected; Altair dropped his beer bottle but no one seemed to care about the glass and alcohol spilling over the carpet. Malik surged upright in his chair, the cat on his lap hissing and scurrying off, and he pointed a trembling finger at Connor as his face scrunched up. “You better explain yourself, kid! My little brother has been dead for three years, got caught in a mine explosion in Pakistan!” The same explosion that had taken his arm, because Altair had been careless and had led them straight into a mine field. 

“I buried him three years ago! There is no way that-” But... the grave was empty, because his body had never been found. He had always assumed that... that the explosion had been so severe that... and there hadn't been time to search, his arm, he had been too injured... and by the time a search party had been sent out to scene, well, they had returned empty handed. Even so, there was simply no way... no way that Kadar... that he...

His little baby brother had been alive all that time? Stuck in the clutches of a horrible criminal organization like the one in Brazil? For three years? And he hadn't even _known?_ What kind of a horrible older brother was he?

“I'm sorry...” Connor muttered and Malik looked up again, feeling his eyes burn, though he refused to let any tears fall. Even so, he did not pull away when Altair reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, though he too was looking at the boy intensely.

“Kadar and I...” Connor continued, keeping his own eyes on his knees. “We shared a cell together. He told me some stuff, about how he had gotten there. Not a lot, I... gathered that he didn't like talking about it, but he said it had happened after a botched mission while he was in the military with you.” 

A silence fell over the room, broken only by Malik's heavy breathing and the soft purring of the cat on Haytham's lap. No one said anything for quite a few minutes, and Connor wasn't going to push it, until-

“So where is he?” Malik's voice wasn't as stoic as he would have liked; he couldn't hide the thick tremble, the way his words shook. “You got out. So where is he?”

Connor met his black eyes, and bit his lower lip. “He... didn't make it. I'm sorry.” he added as Malik abruptly stood up and began pacing. It was hard to tell what he was thinking; he looked angry, furious even, shoulders trembling and fist shaking, his movements curt and stiff. All those years Kadar had been alive; he had given his death a place, had learned to finally accept that it had happened... only to learn that he hadn't been dead at all. And for one second, one short wonderful split of a second, he had hoped that he might see him again, that he would walk through that door into the room, with that dorky smile on his face and that twinkle in his blue eyes that Malik loved so much. And instead...

“How?” His voice was undeniable thick now, and he stopped pacing, though he made no move to sit down again. “How did it happen?”

Connor glanced at his father; what was he supposed to tell him now? Obviously he couldn't tell Malik was had truly happened, but he couldn't lie about this either! “I... I don't think that you-”

“Don't bullshit me, kid! Tell me!”

Gritting his teeth Connor pulled his eyes away and stared at his knees again. His father's hand squeezed, and William put his own on his shoulder. “The... guy in charge, Silas, knew that my father was looking for me, and on my trail. They were broad casting my fights directly to him, and Kadar had found out that they planned to pit me against an experienced fighter, and... and have that fighter kill me on camera to discourage my dad for continuing his search. That fighter was Kadar.

“We had become friends over time, and he was also the best fighter they had. I think they didn't want to take any chances, as well as... make it even worse because we were friends. Half way through the fight... I don't know why he did it, but Kadar just stopped and... and told me to find you once I escaped.” He couldn't look at Malik as he forced the words out of his mouth, not wanting to see the look on his face as Kadar's words repeated themselves in his head. 

“I think... I think that because this was a fight to the death... I mean, only one of us could survive, and I think he knew that he didn't have much of a chance at getting out if he killed me. I dunno. But he refused to continue, and for t-that...” Hot tears dripped down his face, forming a wet spot on his jeans. “For t-that he was m-murdered. A f-few hours later the raid happened. When he asked me to find you, it was to relay a message. To tell you that h-he loved you, and that you were the greatest b-brother a kid could have. And t-to not hate Altair, because he f-forgave him.”

Malik sank back down into his chair with a heavy slump, both he and Altair shocked into complete silence. Connor leaned sideways, resting his head on Haytham's shoulders as his tears fell silently. He had done it. He had passed on Kadar's last words. What would happen next he didn't know, but maybe now... Kadar could finally get the rest he deserved. And maybe... maybe he could visit his grave. Yes, he'd like to do that if possible, and say his final good-bye and thank-you.

-=-=-=-

Hand squeezes. Silent, emotional support and subtle hints under his ministrations. A nudge to remind Connor it was impolite to stare at Malik's clearly absent extremity, a thumb brushing his knuckles as Malik grew intense, anger assaulting them in waves; he wouldn't interrupt the task at hand. Connor urged him to come, to let him speak his peace and he did.

The sobs of his son and the purr of the cat in his lap were the only discernible noises in the room. The skin of his shoulder grew moist under his shirt. His arm extended around Connor's shoulders, tightening. 

"... How e-exactly did he die?"

It wasn't Malik who asked. Amber eyes burned, glassy but defiant. Malik spoke next, hushed. "Altair-"

They shared a look, fingers flexing on Malik's shoulder as he clearly fought the urge to openly mourn. Malik swallowed, thickly.

"Almost entirely painlessly."

Two pairs of eyes rested on his own, Haytham keeping his wits about him, even as William's face turned somber, his own hand patting along Connor's shoulder. "As my son stated, they broadcasted everything to me, his death included."

His face remained blank, emotionless save for the softening of grey eyes. "I told my son where to aim."

He knew what he'd admitted to, Malik shocked into silence as Altair stammered. "So-so what, you gave the command to have him kill Kadar? You just said, what, fuck it, rather some stranger die then my son?" 

Malik grit his teeth. "Altair-"

"Yes and no." The response surprised them both, every pair of eyes in the room on him. He never faltered as he spoke, turning to face Connor. The hardened pad of his thumb wiped his eyes as he spoke.

"Ideally, I could've saved everyone Silas acquired. Every young man would've somehow escaped, rehabilitated, and would've been reunited with their respective families. As you both well know, the world is anything but ideal."

Briefly, he turned his attention to Malik, just long enough to say, "Before he stopped fighting, your brother turned to the camera, and mouthed 'you're welcome'. There's no doubt in my mind he knew what would happen. It was either Connor live through sacrifice or a death for them both."

"How can you be so sure Kadar would have died? He lived for three years there, what makes you think he would've died anyway?" The raw voice of Altair cut through, and Haytham began to understand. He was a large man, an imposing one- somewhat rash and brazen. But under that was great sadness, amber eyes gleaming. He hid his sadness by lashing out.

It reminded him of Connor.

Perhaps it was why his voice softened at what he deemed an obviously answered question. "Silas thought what he possessed as no more than merchandise. Our raid was viewed as an attempt to make him go out of business. What do you do to merchandise you can't sell, 'damaged' merchandise if you will? You throw it away.

"It's why those young men were killed. Too much evidence, too many damaged goods. Kadar was the strongest among them, the most adept at survival. Doubtless, he would've been seen as a threat."

A long pause, and Altair looked away completely. He looked ready to strike something, anything, perhaps someone.

Instead there was a long, drawn out sound, between a whimper and a sob. Malik sat frozen, eyes closing at the sound, a deep breath shakily exhaled. His brother... his little brother, the derp that he was... it sounded like something he would do.

"He died painlessly?" A sheen echoed in Malik's dark eyes and Haytham nodded. "As painlessly as I could instruct."

A nod, and Malik almost rose, before asking, almost softly. "You said; yes, you would have sentenced Kadar to death anyway. Why."

It wasn't a question. Haytham's grip turned protective over his son, eyes finally going to look at him, meeting the glassy brown. It was all the answer Malik needed, holding up his hand as Haytham opened his mouth.

"I have the answer." He fought so hard for his voice not to break but it did, Malik gritting his teeth and exhaling a long, shaky breath. It was a decision he too would have made, had the situation been reversed.

"He died a soldier, a brother, and a hero." Haytham said it with a steady voice, softened in an attempt to comfort with the truth. "One never to be forgotten."

-=-=-=-

Connor remained silent as Haytham explained. He supposed he was lucky that Malik didn't seem to... to hold a grudge at learning that he had killed his brother, even if it had been against his will. Clearly Malik was one of those level headed people Haytham had mentioned, though he was obviously having a lot of difficulty accepting it. Couldn't blame him, Connor mused... for three years he had believed his brother to be dead. To suddenly learn he had been alive all that time... and in such horrid circumstances...

He was almost afraid to open his mouth, afraid that if he did, it would be the final straw that would push Malik over the edge... but he had to ask. “Mr Al-Sayf?”

Malik looked up, blinking at him through the wet sheen that shone in his eyes.

“I... I'd like to visit his grave if that's possible. I never got the chance to properly say good bye.”

Malik just stared, and Connor could feel Altair's eyes on him as well. Would it be allowed? Perhaps he wouldn't want him near his brother's grave, if he even had one. But surely he would have, even if there hadn't been a real body to bury... surely Malik would want something to return to every once in a while.

It took Malik a while but eventually he nodded and walked over to the mantelpiece, grabbing a set of car keys and tossing these to Altair. “Follow me.”

~*~

Spring Grove Cemetery was only a fifteen minute drive away; Altair and Malik led the way in their own car, William following closely behind. It was nearly dark by the time they arrived; after parking their cars Malik and Altair led them through the gates and along paths, passing many graves, funeral buildings and monuments, but Connor saw nothing of it. There was only one grave he was interested in, he didn't need to see the rest.

They finally came to a stop near a line of graves set near a large pond and Malik gestured at the third one in the row; Kadar's grave was clean and well kept, with fresh flowers, a few potted plants and a lantern decorating the marble plate, which was kept free of moss and dirt. It was clear that it was visited often and Connor watched as Malik knelt down to lit the lantern.

There were so many things he had wanted to say, but now that he stood here... Connor was at a loss of words. A simple 'thank you' didn't seem to suffice anymore. He stared at the date engraved into the marble: August 23, 1988 – May 14, 2009, and wondered if Malik would have that changed into the actual date of Kadar's death. Reaching up he stroked his fingers over his mother's bear claw necklace he wore around his neck... perhaps he should... He was so lucky he still had it. Silas had taken all his belongings, but the leather string of the necklace had snapped two days prior to his kidnap and he hadn't gotten around to fixing it; it was still back home in a drawer when Cutter and his men took him.

Gripping it tightly he pulled it over his head and held it up for Malik to see. “This belonged to my mother. It means a lot to me. She too gave her life to save mine.” He stepped forward and knelt down, carefully laying the necklace out on the smooth marble, next to the lantern and his eyes fell on a small, framed photo. He instantly recognized Kadar, wearing his army cadet clothes; there was a bright smile on his full, healthy face and his blue eyes shone and twinkled. Clearly it had been taken in happier days. His throat burned as he looked at it and Connor stood up again, stepping back to join his father's side.

That was all he could do. Kadar could rest now, and maybe... maybe he'd see him again, when his own time came. His fingers searched for Haytham's hand as he lowered his head; they were done here. He wanted to go home.

-=-=-=-

He'd mentioned wanting to see the grave a few times. Haytham had figured they'd be swayed to show him.

A small, well kept plot... could he avoid going he would have, but this was for Connor. Cemeteries haunted him so.

So many graves he wouldn't visit, and yet here he was now, looking into the eyes of one happy cadet. He froze as Connor removed his necklace, watching it in almost slow motion. He almost wanted to take it back, not for Kadar's lack of deserving it but...  
[  
No, it was the right thing to do. A proper thank you from them both. He pushed away thoughts of touching that very necklace under setting suns and under moonlight, the way it appeared on Connor's skin. And Ziio's.

Curious how his thoughts drifted to Connor foremost.

"Thank you for the opportunity to meet you." William handled the departure, even as Haytham shook their hands respectively, Connor doing so with the squeeze of his hand. His son was exhausted, he could see it written across his face. This has plagued him so. Maybe Kadar wasn't the only one who could rest peacefully tonight.

~*~

Before they'd left, Malik insisted they call if they learned anything new about this... underground ring. Unlikely, but Haytham promised as much before William took to driving. Connor slept most the way home and by the time they arrived, it was already nearing four in the mourning. Haytham roused him from sleep to half pull him from the car.

"Thank you, William."

"Anytime. Connor..." he paused, a dim smile on kind features. "I hoped this helped you a little."

A wave, and Haytham escorted Connor upstairs, shutting the door to their apartment quickly before wrapping one arm around his shoulders, awkwardly. He was trying.

"A long bath sounds divine right now, no?" Patting his back twice, Haytham made his way to the bathroom, beckoning Connor once. At the very least it would relax Connor further. And he wouldn't take no for an answer, as he selected a scented bubble bath and started the jacuzzi, urging Connor to get in. "I'll return shortly." If he was hungry, Connor was probably famished. Couldn't hurt to cut up strawberries and offer him a glass of cider. Heck knows he needed it after he was done with his bath, preparing another portion (or perhaps two other portions, Connor could eat) was no big deal.

Perhaps they could relax for a short while, calm down and let today's events fade to the back before going to bed. Haytham added whip cream to the cut berries and took a glass of cider with him, using a champagne one. It would be a great relief to do so after a day like this.

-=-=-=-

Connor wasn't aware of much during the long six-hour drive back to New York. Haytham had to half drag, half carry him out of the car, and he only nodded as William said his good byes before going home himself. He really was exhausted, but the few hours of fortunately nightmareless sleep he had gotten in the car had helped.

He was glad this was over and done with. Kadar would never be forgotten, but now Connor could work on putting it behind him and let the wounds heal.

A bath sounded divine indeed and he followed his father to the bathroom without a fuss, all too happy to let him prepare the bath as he watched from the side. He nodded as Haytham left again, giving him the privacy to undress. He should really show his thanks to his father, for putting up with him and all his issues, keeping him from his work as he did. Again, a simple thank-you didn't look like it was enough, not in comparison to all those things Haytham did for him.

What though? Ah, he could think of something in the morning, after the bath and a good night of sleep, when his brain was a little more awake again.

He neatly folded his clothes and placed them on a chair, readying a towel for when he was done and leaned over the tub to feel the temperature of the water with his fingers. Just perfect. Smiling to himself he unwrapped the bandages from around his chest and carefully climbed into the tub, sinking down until the bubbling water reached his chin. Oh god this felt like heaven! This was _exactly_ what he needed; he really should use the jacuzzi more often instead of just taking a shower.

Yawning Connor reached up and removed the bands out of his hair, tossing him on the floor before taking a deep breath and ducking under the surface to run the water through his hair, the sound of the bubbles flowing along his body loud in his ears. He resurfaced with a gasp and rubbed the water out of his eyes before leaning back against the edge of the tub. Closing his eyes he tipped his head back to face the ceiling, leaned his arms on the tub's edge and stretched out his legs. He could stay like this for daaaaaaays!

-=-=-=-

The door had remained open, Haytham leisurely carrying Connor his items and stepped into the bathroom.

He was too handsome to be beautiful. That was his first thought, how the masculine curve of his chin and broad body prevented the claim from being emitted from his lips. His features, his lips and eyes, the deep black of his cascading hair, however, held a beauty to them. He himself was undeniably handsome, relaxed for a change. The contrast of dark skin against porcelain was nothing short of devilish, water kissed skin tempting him.

He was glad his eyes were closed, lest he be caught staring. Instead he sat himself on the edge of the tub, placing down the cut fruit and whipped cream, the cider next to it. "For your undoubtedly hungry and thirsty self." He was happy his own cider was actually burgundy wine, he'd need it after his son was finished. A glass of wine of two, the powerful jets of the hot tub, and his hands. Wasn't he posh.

"Try not to become a prune in here." He had no idea what else to say, his pants uncomfortably tight. He settled for that before attempting to leave. Connor didn't need to feel comfortable.

-=-=-=-

Connor's eyes remained closed until he felt movement next to him, and opened them to see that his father had taken a seat on the tub before they drifted down to the bowl with... cut strawberries and whipped cream? And... cider? Not much a meal, was it? Delicious though.

“Thanks.” he said softly and picked up one of the strawberries between his fingers, heavily coated in a thick layer of whipped cream. Heh, now this was what he liked, having someone take care of his needs while he sat comfortable in the hot water without having to do anything. He could definitely get used to it.

Until he saw his father standing up again, getting ready to leave. Whoa now, wait a minute! So soon? Quickly swallowing down the piece of fruit in his mouth he sat up and blinked, fingers still coated in whipped cream. “Leaving already?” Sure they had already spent most of the day together but... but he had hoped to get a chance to talk without any heavy shit looming over them. Just... small talk, easy stuff, comfortable conversation. “I thought that... maybe we could talk? Or chat, more like? About normal stuff?” he shrugged and licked his fingers clean, looking at Haytham with a slight frown.  
“We don't have to but...” Ugh never mind... maybe the fact that Haytham had been spending most of the day with him already meant that right now he was eager for some alone time. Connor could understand that.

“Never mind...” he muttered and reclined against the edge again with his eyes on the wall. Picking up another strawberry he looked down at it – it was a big fat red one – before biting off a large chunk, feeling a bit of juice dribble down the corner of his mouth though he made no move to lick it away yet. “Thanks for the strawberries.”

-=-=-=-

Haytham hated strawberries, he'd only bought them because of Connor. His own fruit bowl consisted of a variety of melon, his preference. Strawberries never tickled his fancy.

And now he _despised_ them.

Juice and whip cream around his lips and fingers, his son ate like a barbarian or a toddler, but with horrible tendencies. Like sucking his fingers clean of whipped cream and bringing his thumb to lap at dribbled juice.

And he realized that Connor had said something only when he looked at him expectantly. Oh, right. Yes. Uhm...

"Yes." An eye twitched as Connor looked at him curiously. Wrong answer.

"Uhm, in some circumstances." Damn it wrong again. Connor was looking at him as if he was the victim of a sudden stroke. At the moment he felt the part.

He had a habit of looking at things he found to be beautiful and enticing until someone snapped him from his thoughts. Such was the case the first time he saw Ziio. And such was the case now.

He cleared his throat and bit his finger. "... the melon will burn if I leave it out to long." Connor knew dick about cooking anyway, he'd buy that surely. The problem was a certain appendage of his refused to soften, and it was rather difficult to hide.

The result was Haytham attempting to stand and the formidable pitch in his pants exposed for a few seconds, hopefully not long enough for Connor to witness.

-=-=-=-

… what? The hell was he talking about? Connor blinked slowly, watching his father do that nervous thing again where he bit the top of his finger, confused... melon didn't burn. “Er...” What? What was that supposed to mean? His eyebrows furrowed together, trying to make sense of it as Haytham stood up, and his eyes drifted down to – oh hello!

Connor reacted immediately, reaching out to grip the fabric of his shirt with his wet fingers to keep Haytham from leaving, his eyes still glued to the very clear, very prominent bulge in his pants. Hello indeed. “Melon, huh?” he asked, smirking as he looked up to see a blush appear on his father's cheeks... one that mirrored his own if the heat he felt in his face was any indication. Him and his father... it had been a long time after all...

Connor sat up, keeping his grip on Haytham's shirt until he was right in front of him, at eye level and then quickly let go to lace his fingers together behind his father's neck, keeping him trapped in place. He pointedly glanced down again and raised one eyebrow before leaning forward until his lips very lightly brushed over his father's, whispering; “I think your melon can wait, no?” His tongue darted out to trace the seam of his lips briefly and then pulled back, Connor waited... surely, despite everything that had happened, his father would still want this? After all... his erection was evidence enough.

-=-=-=-

Damn it. So close.

The apology bubbled, caught in his throat. Too soon, he was making this awkward undoubtedly, not that he'd meant to. Unfortunately his libido was vicious, refusing to slow with age. Not that he craved sex, just this particular person providing it. Like hell if he'd say that.

But hands trapped him, cheeks as flushed as his were in all probability, lips kissing...

Wait, Connor was kissing him. Granted, not deep, but his tongue teased the seam of his lips, wet body nearly flushed against him. He wanted to ravage him. To plunder his mouth in a ferocious kiss.

Hands instead rested on his waist, stroking as he licked his lips. He could savor the taste on his tongue for hours.

"... are you sure, lad?" He had to ask, Connor was impulsive. The first move had been his but there was no need to please him, not really. While pleasant, he wouldn't force anything on his son.

Connor's confused look made him add, "Rushing before you're ready could be a detriment." His way of saying, I don't want to hurt you. Hopefully he'd see that.

-=-=-=-

For a second Connor feared he would pull away from him, but then he felt the hands, his father's large hands, resting on his waist and stroking his wet skin. Relief bubbled up inside of him and he smiled; that was all the signs he needed to know that his father was still interested.

The question was a valid one though, one that did make him think. One he knew Haytham _wanted_ him to think about before making a decision. He did really want some familiar intimacy despite the fact that he wasn't even hard yet himself, he mused as he rested his forehead against his father's shoulder. It had been too long, and masturbating, while nice, wasn't really his thing. He much preferred the company of someone else over his own hand. He'd rather not to do it all then. Then again... he hadn't forgotten about Cutter. Not that he ever planned on letting what Cutter had done to him get in the way of getting intimate with someone again, but... going all the way tonight? No... it was still too early for that. He wanted this, but small steps at a time.

Surely Haytham would understand that.

“I'm sure... just not all the way yet.” he answered softly, and looked up again as he unlaced his fingers, keeping one hand hooked behind his father's neck while the other trailed down his chest and abdomen. There were plenty of others things that he was up to that didn't involve his ass. “There is plenty of room in the tub by the way.” Pressing his lips against Haytham's he closed his eyes, kissing him softly as his fingers reached his pants and glided over the prominent bulge, applying a bit of pressure as he shuddered at the heat he felt. “So get naked.” A short but firm sudden squeeze and Connor pulled back again, reclining back into the water with a small smirk on his face. Heh, he had missed this.

-=-=-=-

He thought about it, good. That was what Haytham wanted him to do. He'd much rather be turned down now then engage in regrettable acts.

His answer was understandable and respected. There were enough things they could do until then. A soft kiss, and Haytham hummed into it pleasantly, cock twitching at the prominent touch. Skilled little thing Connor was.

He did however scoff at the command, a smirk playing across his lips. "At your will, your highness." He stripped regardless, shirt falling to the floor and pants in a heap. He contemplated folding them before waving away the idea. He'd waited too long for this.

Instead he hesitantly toyed with the ribbon in his hair, before pulling it out, stepping into what was slightly hot water in his opinion. Not unpleasant though, not with the company.

He dared to submerge himself entirely, emerging with his long hair slicked with wetness, and reclined against the opposite end of the large tub before waving Connor over, half guising him into his lap. Slow, they could be slow.

It didn't mean his touches would be any less ferocious.

He swiped Connor's mouth immediately, pulling him to his chest. He wasted no time reacquainting himself with every bit of the luscious mouth beneath his, tongue lapping against his before plunging about, licking the roof of his mouth so he squirmed. Hands busied themselves, one in thick black hair, stroking and combing through, while the other massaged muscles, going from his shoulders to his mid back and up again.

By the time he parted from Connor's mouth he was breathless, pulling back to nuzzle his neck and bite gently. Then a little harder, sucking with as much intensity as he could until he was sure it would bruise.

It would be one of dozens of hickies. Every time Connor looked into that new mirror, he'd be reminded where he was and who he belonged beside. Teeth traced his pulse, hands groping and massaging every bit of him, moving to his hip bones.

"And what would my Connor request of me?" It hardly sounded submissive, Haytham's voice a low purr.

-=-=-=-

This. This was it. This was what he wanted. Connor had to bite his lip to keep from groaning as Haytham undressed. For someone his age, his physique was amazing; he let his eyes roam freely as more clothing was removed, fingers twitching until Haytham finally climbed into the tub and ducked underwater.

Connor wasted no time and scooted forwards when prompted, settling himself in his father's lap; Haytham's erection prodded against his stomach and his soft moan was swallowed up by the kiss he was pulled in. Hands roamed, stroking and gliding over his skin as Connor wrapped his own arms around his father, one hand tangling in his long, greying hair as the other dragged finger nails down his back and up again, pulling him closer.  
His own cock began filling and growing too, rising up between his legs until it brushed against the other. Connor simply couldn't remain still and ground their hips together to seek out more friction as his father left bite marks and hickeys all over his neck, throat and shoulders. He wasn't planning on hiding any of them once this was over.

The question made him blink a little. Honestly he didn't really care what they did as long as it was more of this. He didn't mind letting his father control the pace, he could trust him not to go too far yet without having to say so.

Hm. Smiling Connor glanced up, eyes holding a mischievous twinkle to them as he pulled back slightly, took a deep lung full of breath and ducked under the surface. The bubbles underwater made it hard to see, but Connor had been in this position more often than he cared to count; he didn't need his eyes to find what he was looking for. Settling his hands on Haytham's knees he spread them, gliding his palms up over his inner thighs as he leaned forward and stuck out his tongue, licking a slow, broad swipe over his father's heated flesh until he reached the head. He couldn't hear Haytham over the roar of bubbles but he felt him tense, followed by fingers clenching in his hair as he tongued the slit before following a prominent vein down again, pressing a kiss against his balls.

He would have liked to continue, but his lungs were not agreeing with it; having no choice but to pull back Connor quickly resurfaced, gulping in a mouthful of air and leaned against Haytham's stomach. He kissed it, still panting softly and slowly made his way back up as his hands touched everywhere they could reach, catching drops of water with his tongue and giving nips, licks and little kisses here and there. He swiped the flat of his tongue over a nipple before trailing it along a collar bone, up over his throat until he met his father's lips against in a chaste kiss.

His request? “Everything you want, dad.”

-=-=-=-

"Oh." A surprised moan left him, even as he half expected the swipe of his tongue. The soft pressure was absolutely gratifying, Haytham barely resisting the urge to thrust. Instead he gripped dark hair, even as he Connor resurfaced and kissed his way up his stomach, licking over his chest. He gasped low in his throat as Connor brushed his neck with teeth, a secret erogenous zone that caused his skin to prickle.

Everything he wanted, huh? Well, he wanted Connor for one. And for the lad to understand his intentions. It was simply difficult to make them known, without stating the obvious. Though perhaps, that was the issue. Connor was actively touchy- hugging, kissing, wanting to cuddle- it took some getting used to, but perhaps Haytham could return it in another way.

The idea spawned rapidly, Haytham engaging Connor in a kiss yet again, calloused hand moving to his erect cock and squeezing while the other slipped between his own legs. Connor couldn't see through the mass of bubbles and neither could he, the prod of his own fingers fairly foreign. He hadn't done _this_ in decades.

 _This better get through to him._ It was his sole thought as he slipped a finger into himself, busying Connor with a kiss, sucking his lower lip before lapping at his tongue. His brief and short lived experiences with bottoming taught him it simply wasn’t meant for him; the show was meant to entice his son and little else. Still… Haytham sucked a patch of skin under Connors earlobe, busying him as he inserted a second finger. It would be quite the surprise, a deserved one after all the endeavors. 

"Everything, lad?" Haytham ‘s hand pumped slowly, trailing to cup his son's balls briefly. "Alright. I want you to close your eyes and lean against the back of the tub." He kissed a trail down Connor's neck again, hand squeezing the thick, engorged cock between his fingers. He'd best use three, but was too impatient. He was aroused enough to forgo most of the pain.

Haytham eased his son against the tub and removing his fingers from himself. He really had done a half-assed job at preparing himself but it would have to do. Grabbing his son once more, he pumped his cock again, kissing, nipping, biting down his chest, across his navel, nipping what he hoped to be sensitive scars and tracing imaginary paths with his tongue. He sat forward, cock pressed to Connor's abdomen. "Grab yourself, for a moment. And no peeking." He placed a hand over his eyes almost playfully, seated in his lap. Maybe the tremor in his voice went unnoticed. Haytham swallowed, hard, preparing for both fleeting pain and the moderate boredom that came with sex like this. He’d perform, this once, the way a beau should. 

The lad needed to understand his intentions this time.

Positioning himself, Haytham whispered, a gust of warm breath and a twang of nervous need lacing his voice. "Ready?"

-=-=-=-

Close his eyes?

Connor blinked a few times and, realizing that that was kinda counter productive, relented and allowed his eyelids to flutter close. He couldn't ignore the small spark of excitement that this brought; Haytham made it sound like he had a surprise for him, and in this situation, surprises could get _very nice_ indeed.

He leaned back against the tub, sitting down on the elevated bench under the surface of the water and strained his hearing, but there was nothing that could give him a clue as to what his father was planning. That, and the touches were too distracting; with a low moan he pushed his hips up into the hand fisting him, relishing in the tight warmth it provided as a tongue traced every sensitive spot on his body.

He felt his father shift, the hand leaving him and Connor bit down a whimper; he didn't need more incentive than that to reach down and grip himself, his heart fluttering away in his chest. What was he doing? Oh man, he wanted to look!

“Dad?” he asked softly as he felt warm pressure over his eyes – a hand, he realized – and more shifting, the hard press of his father's erection against his stomach, and then-

Connor jerked, lips parting in a low, surprised moan as the beginnings of what was tight, _very tight_ heat slowly began to engulf him. He knew what it was, knew what Haytham was doing, and he could barely believe it! As far as he knew, Haytham had _never_ bottomed before, not for anyone and here he was, slowly pressing down on him, taking him into his body.

_Oh god oh god oh god oh god_

Trembling hands reached up to grab hold of hips, but Connor made no move to speed up his father's descent. The heat was so tight it almost hurt, soft velvety walls massaging his cock as it sank deeper. Connor's thighs trembled as he fought not to buck up into that inviting heat. He wanted to, badly, but even more, he wanted to _see._

“D-dad... o-oh... please.. l-let me watch...?”

-=-=-=-

It was with grit teeth and shaky thighs that Haytham allowed himself to descend at a fairly rapid pace, considering his lack of careful preparation. Or lubricant.

Or his lack of experience. He didn't need to count how many years had passed to know it was over two decades since the last time. A thick swallow and the bead of sweat trailing down his temple told as much. Subtle signs, his inability to force his muscles to relax spoke for him. His face remained neutral, even as he shut his own eyes.

Right, well, he remembered why he didn't partake in such activities often! But it served it's purpose. A stiff upper lip for Connor. Let him enjoy it, he certainly deserved as much.

He attempted to move, raising his hips and getting up about half way and took a deep breath. Not so bad, a tolerable pain... just in an odd place.

Lowering himself provided a much more significant burn, Haytham shutting his eyes and exhaling, body tense. Connor asked something through a pleasured moan, but Haytham couldn't quite hear him. While far from the worst pain he felt, this wasn't pleasurable. Not in the slightest.

Again, he expected as much. His prior bottoming endeavor with someone more experienced had still proven quite painful.

Every twitch of Connor's cock made him tense, and it took him a moment to realize he may be waiting for a response. Right. Haytham's brow furrowed, grey eyes opening slowly, half lidded. "Y-yes lad?" He couldn't keep the tremor from his voice, even as he rolled his hips experimentally.

He wasn't fairing as well as he'd wanted.

-=-=-=-

Connor frowned behind the hand still covering his eyes, as Haytham stayed silent, sinking down on him faster than he should. He sure felt tight enough to be a virgin, or at least someone who hadn't done this in a _long long_ time... had he even bothered to prepare himself? And knowing him, he hadn't used lube either!

 _Idiot!_ he thought, gritting his teeth as his father moved up again without giving himself real time to adjust to the stretch. He was a little larger than average, so this had to _hurt!_ And it probably did, if the hitch in Haytham's breathing and the tremble of his thighs was any indication.

Connor knew his father liked to stay in control, but not in the expense of hurting himself in the process. “S-slow down!” he hissed and reached up to tug his father's hand away from his eyes; blinking up at Haytham's face he could see the discomfort in his expression he wasn't quite able to mask completely and Connor very nearly rolled his eyes. He was still fighting to remain still himself, and as amazing as his father's insanely tight body felt squeezing around him, he wanted them _both_ to enjoy this...

“You have to... relax...” he gasped out as his hand returned to grip his rolling hip. “A-and slow down a bit.” It was unlikely that Haytham would listen to him though, he was far too stubborn for that. And Connor knew what it felt like, when the stretch was too tight. Fortunately, their current position gave him some control at least.

His grip tightened, the muscles in his upper arms bulging slightly as he forced Haytham's hips to still, and then grabbed his cock in his fist. Planting his feet more firmly against the bottom of the tub Connor carefully rolled his hips up while stroking him softly, slowly, and watched his father's expression carefully. Pain made one tense up, but pleasure made one relax... of course he knew where the prostate was located, but actually finding it was a lot more difficult. He had topped plenty of times, but usually only with women... in all honesty, he had only ever topped another man once before this.

“J-just let me, dad...” he muttered, rolling his hips up slowly as he gently tugged on his father's hips... so fucking _tight,_ but he had to get the angle right. Surely Haytham would let him know once he got it...

-=-=-=-

Relax? Grey eyes narrowed, a hand bracing on the tub as the other fell to his side. Clearly he was attempting to do so! Simply without a semblance of luck. He made no move to slow, ignoring Connor until hands tilled him, grip not hard but firm, and Haytham met brown eyes with a frown.

He was serious. Eyes rolled. Fine then. He'd be bored and in pain, it was Reginald all over again. Except without the parental murder.

Begrudgingly, Haytham allowed Connor to roll into his body. He remained tense, lips twitching as Connor rolled slowly, not languidly, but in no immediate hurry. Haytham's agitation increased.

"Lad, can you not simply enjoy what I'm offering?" Honestly, at least _he_ initiated his acquiescence to indulge in receiving. Another difference from his only time prior, and Haytham fought to pick up the pace, hips attempting to rut in smooth jerks. "I'm hardly a doll, you can take out your aggressions or frustrations should you need to." That's what he was offering, yet Connor was persistent, grip firm on his hips. Haytham stopped all movement with a sigh.

"Lad, it's _fine!"_ Connor ignored him, still rolling his hips, only fueling Haytham's agitation. "There's no need to act so timid not gentle, there is nothing in this life I have nor experi- FUCK!"

His free hand flew to his mouth, teeth biting the inside of his palm. The whites of his eyes were clearly visible as a healthy, dark flush covered his cheeks, Haytham sucking in a breath and exhaling with a long, winding tremor that shook him.

He knew _what_ it was, obviously. Of course he knew. Simply he'd never... he'd never experienced it himself... Birch hadn't...

The second noise that left him was not a lower moan, but one of a higher pitch, not feminine but certainly unlike any noise he'd ever made. Like... a little, fluttering tingle of euphoria that lasted briefly, enveloping him in spasms from head to toe.

His hips rocked, Haytham almost shyly meeting Connor's eyes. They held a surprised look. Haytham averted his own, flush deepening. He'd explain later.

"... I withdraw all prior commands in favor of you continuing to do whatever you just did." There. The white flag waved in the back ground, Haytham biting his index finger as he pulled his hand from his face.

Maybe Connor _did_ have a clue, for once.

-=-=-=-

Connor ignored the angry, frustrated stares his father was giving in favor of finding what he needed to find. Christ, he sounded like he didn't even know what prostate stimulation felt like! What a virgin...

He rolled his hips up again, concentration written all over his face as his father's body remained borderline-painful tight and unforgiving. He thrust again. Shit where was it where was it where was it where w-

“FUCK!”

Connor smirked. Nailed it! Hmmm... and that was an interesting sound he had just made, and that dark flush on his face, the shy, surprised look in his eyes? Very fitting!

Focusing his attention at the job at hand Connor thrust up again, a little harder this time now that he knew where to aim; the result was almost spectacular. Haytham's body still had a wonderfully vice-like grip around him, but it no longer felt like it was trying to push him out. Rather, hot muscles were pulling him deeper, grabbing at his cock as he moved. 

This was a kind of pleasure that was so very different from what he was used to, but no less amazing. Connor's head slowly dropped back, wet black hair pooling behind him as he let out gasps and low moans. He took his sweet damn time; his thrusts weren't fast, but they were deep and rubbed along his father's prostate with every stroke. He didn't want this to go fast, it'd be over too soon then. This had to last...

“Have you... e-ever done this before?” he managed to ask between sharp gasps and deep breaths of air. A harder thrust had him squeeze his eyes shut, water sloshing around them, and Connor let go of his father's hip in favor of wrapping his arms around his chest. His nails pressed into Haytham's back as Connor panted against his skin before he stuck out his tongue and flicked a nipple with it, glancing up. “Cause it d-doesn't look like you have...”

-=-=-=-

Oh.

Slow thrusts, gaining in intensity and power. With every movement, the head of Connor's cock brushed the small gland within him, his own body reacting to pleasure in ways most unfamiliar.

What usually resulted in sharp snaps of his own hips now made him grind experimentally. What would once make his breath hitch made him sigh. His groans were unrecognizable to his own ears, somehow breathier, his voice hitching slightly, akin to a surprised, timid gasp every time his prostate was rubbed. This was... far more sensual than his prior experience.

The sharp pain had subsided, and in it's wake was a muddled throb through a thick haze of pleasure. Muscles relaxed further with each thrust, and Haytham actually began regretting every time he pulled upward. There was something to being full, however awkward. The promise of pleasure outweighed both discomfort and insecurity.

Until Connor opened his mouth. He stopped almost mid gasp, brows furrowed, frown on his features.

"Never you mind that." Honestly, who asked that in the middle of sex? Honestly he'd meant to explain it but not _now._

"You have no tact." It lacked bite, Haytham still moving against him, albeit slightly more tense. Surely he wasn't insinuating inadequacy on his behalf.

... surely.

Oh for heavens sake. And he'd been thoroughly enjoying this.

"... if it's not to your liking, simply say so, rather than noting my lack of..." He waved his hand grandly, frowning. "Lack of expected skill." With hesitance, he lifted his hips with a sigh. "The manual stimulation is still available." Since he was, evidently, doing poorly.

-=-=-=-

Oh no. No no no! It wasn't anything like that! Skill or not, his father's body squeezing around his cock felt more than amazing and this would continue until they were _done!_

“You misunderstand me.” he whispered and removed his arms from around Haytham's chest to once again grip his hips, preventing him from pulling away completely. Like it mattered to him whether his father was... ahem, inexperienced in bottoming or not, that didn't make it any less amazing. It was just curiosity, but alright, perhaps asked at the wrong moment.

Besides, rolling one's hips down on a cock didn't exactly require skill, so there was nothing to note.

“This is very much to my liking, if you want to know.” And it would be even better if he could roll them over and fuck him hard, but Connor seriously doubted that his father would appreciate that, on his back beneath his son with his legs spread. Haytham was far too proud for that.

No, this would have to do, and it worked well enough, even if the edge of the tub painfully pressed against his shoulder blades as he tightened his grip on his father's hips and bucked up hard once. The way Haytham jerked and clenched around him told Connor that his aim was still perfect; sucking his lower lip between his teeth he closed his eyes and began a fast, deep pace. Screw slow, he no longer wanted slow, slow didn't feel nearly as good.

Water splashed and sloshed over the marble edge of the tub; Connor's nails left deep indentations into the skin of Haytham's hips, letting out low groans each time he rolled upwards. Funny... he was usually quite loud, but being the topping party for once made him a lot less vocal. And Haytham... the sounds his father was making, not girly but definitely higher pitched. They were groans and cries Connor had never heard him make before, and he wondered if he could get him to scream as he upped the pace and tried to go harder and deeper. Sweat rolled down his temple as he worked them both, driving himself deep into his father's body with every thrust. His mouth remained pressed against Haytham's chest, leaving bites and hickeys wherever he could reach, his tongue occasionally laving over a nipple before he pulled back just enough to growl: “Touch yourself, daddy...”

-=-=-=-

He stilled, Connor's hands firm again on hips, listening. Another misunderstanding, huh? Resisting the urge to roll his eyes just barely, Haytham allowed himself to be lowered, breath hitching again. Prostate stimulation truly was _amazing._ It was no wonder Connor liked it so much. He could now understand the fuss his partners made. He wouldn't reciprocate it, but it was now understandable.

Did it feel quite as nice when the pace was perhaps, quicker?

He didn't wonder for long. They shifted, Haytham's legs spreading farther apart, Connor still inside him. Nails dug into skin as the thrusts turned sharper, deeper. Harder. Faster.

And with that came needy noises he could never fathom himself to make. He was a silent top, really, something Connor seemed to inherit but in this position? While not loud- not by a long shot- he was vocal, the air thick with gasps, hitched breath, and little 'oh's' and 'ah's', every thrust sending tingles of raw pleasure down his spine. Oh, oh, OH. Hips rolled, pushing down harder. The water spilled over the tub in tumultuous waves, and Haytham's wet hair clung to his face, hands braced on either side of the tub. He fought to keep up, through the tingles of borderline overwhelming pleasure, and Connor's voice was a soft whisper when Haytham heard it.

A prickle arouse from spine to feet, Haytham no longer contemplating disobeying. No, the tingling wouldn't subside, and Connor's more than sizeable mass twitched pleasantly, coating his muscles with pre cum. Little dots began appearing before his eyes, and with a hand that shook, Haytham grasped his own erection, shutting his eyes as his chest was licked. To be called daddy in such a position, his legs spread wide for his son, impaling himself, grinding, desperate for orgasm and completely wanton...

"S-so close." He almost whimpered as Connor's thrust continued, harder than before. A tongue against his nipple and teeth on his skin, and Haytham opened his dilated eyes, spare hand around Connor's bicep.

"C-Connor..." It wasn't a whimper, he'd deny it; but he couldn't fight his head tipping backward or his lips parting, his body shaking from head to toe.

Long and stretched, the moan left him as his body jolted in a way it never quite had. Tremor after tremor, wave after waves, and his nails dug into Connor's skin as he rocked his hips in absolute desire. A warmth spread through him, unlike anything he felt. He could hardly remain upright, clutching the tub for support, white spurts of cum painting his own abdomen and Connor's chest. It was with heavily lidded eyes that Haytham finally opening grey, the last tremors of orgasm running through him in glorious bliss.

Connor may have needed a push... Haytham licked his lips, leaning forward. A breathless, satiated aura surrounded him as he whispered into Connor's ear. "Cum, inside me lad. Daddy wants you to."

-=-=-=-

… it really was a shame that this was unlikely to happen again, or at least not anytime soon. Connor could only stare at his father's face, watching his expression, the pleasure written all over it, how his eyebrows scrunched and his lips parted to gasp for air.

All because of the pleasure that he, Connor was giving _him._ He caused this. He did this! He made this happen!

He bit back a groan at that thought and dropped his head to stare at the hand that was now stroking his cock, just like he had requested. To have his father actually do as he had asked without a fuss made this even better... now he understood why Haytham preferred to be in control. It was intoxicating to have this kind of power over a person!

There was no longer the need to keep a firm grip on Haytham's hips – he wasn't going anywhere anymore – Connor let one of his hands drift, towards his back and then down. Fingers slipped between his father's spread ass cheeks to touch where they were joined. He could feel the stretched ring of muscle tighten and quiver as he ran the pads of his fingers over it, felt himself slide past them again and again and again.

He didn't need to be told to know that Haytham was close; he recognized the signs, the way his trembling and shaking increased in force, and how his movements turned erratic and uncontrolled. Connor wrapped his arms around his father again, closed his eyes and held him tight, and one more sharp thrust into his prostate was enough to send his father toppling over the edge.

Connor grit his teeth, groaning long and loudly as the muscles gripping his cock squeezed him mercilessly; he had no choice but to still his hips as his father rode through his orgasm, his body trying to milk a release from him as well. He felt his cock twitch against his stomach, felt hot seed splatter against his chest.

It didn't take long to finish and he felt Haytham sag against him, sated and breathless. Now that the grip around him was easing up again a bit Connor rolled his hips again, once, before he resumed his fast paced thrusting. His father was done, and now he was desperate to find his own release!

With his eyes still shut he didn't notice how Haytham leaned forward until he felt hot breath against the shell of his ear, followed by words that had him choke on a moan.

It was enough.

Connor's head fell back as his body locked up, driving himself deep inside his father's willing body before he stilled and released inside of him; his nails dragged red stripes down Haytham's back as he rode through it, muscles shaking and quivering, until he too sagged back against the tub's edge when it ended.

Spent, his arms slowly removed themselves from around his father to fall back into the water with a splash. His chest heaved with every breath he gulped in, and one brown eye cracked open to glance up at Haytham's face. He hadn't expected this to feel so good.

-=-=-=-

Mm. Satiated and spent, he hadn't realized the water had significantly cooled. Even so, Haytham remained seated, if just for a moment, eyes fluttering open. Connor had quite the attractive orgasm face. Typically they seemed repulsive rf amusing. He found great pleasure watching him.

Less pleasurable was the warm liquid spilling into him as Connor's hips thrust their last. Mmm. Watching his son sag, Haytham waited for a bleary eye to open, meaning to smirk.

It was actually a smile he offered. A genuine one.

"Not bad." He wrung out his hair, fingers trembling less now. "Certainly a fair way to end the night-"

It left him a as a small hiss, a wince marring handsome features as he pulled up and felt Connor's softening cock slip out of him. Oh, right. Yes. It had been some time, hadn't it? Such enthusiasm on Connor's behalf had been quite fun, though he supposed it may have been overzealous for one who didn't participate in the act often. Using the wall as leverage, he faltered only slightly, grabbing a towel by the end of the sink before gasping.

A light flush covered his cheeks as he felt the slow drip of cooling fluid exit him. Yet another unacquainted feeling, though this one was less than pleasant. He'd persevere. The pleasure provided merited the attempt.

"... so..." With his mood uplifted, he dare ask, almost teasingly. "... how was I, lad? Did I live up to preconceived expectations?"

-=-=-=-

A shiver ran down Connor's spine as Haytham slowly lifted himself, forcing him to slip out of the warm heat of his body. Baw, and it had been so nice.

He turned around in the tub, grateful to no longer have to suffer the edge digging into his shoulder blades, and rested his lower arms on it, watching his father walk to the sink and grab a towel with a noticeable limp in his step. Hehehehehehe. Ooooh, and he was leaking as well. More power to him!

 _Now you know what I have to deal with each time we fuck,_ he mused and pursed his lips, blinking innocently. “I have no idea what preconceived expectations you are talking about-” a lie, and they both knew it. It wasn't like Connor had never fantasized about turning the tables on his father. “-but yes, _very_ nice indeed.” His lips pulled back into a smirk, and his brown eyes flashed. ”We should definitely do it like this again.”

Bah, the water was getting uncomfortably cold. Standing up he squeezed out the ends of his hair and climbed out of the tub, shivering as cold drops of water dribbled down his skin to follow the sharp curves of his body. “Seriously though,” he muttered as he reached his father and grabbed a second towel, throwing it over his head to start working on his hair. “Was it your first time bottoming?” It was a question born out of genuine interest and his expression said the same.

-=-=-=-

Liar. Haytham snorted under his breath. He had no idea what preconceived expectations meant, more like. Still, the response was appreciated, his chin held a little higher. Again? Mm. Perhaps, but certainly not for an extended period of time. He still preferred topping, a singular event wouldn't change that. Though admittedly, it was very, very pleasant.

Pleasant enough for him to _perhaps_ try again in the distant future.

"You are really stuck on that." It wasn't sarcastic, just a mere speculatory statement, and Haytham thought for a moment, lips twitching. He wasn't opposed to Connor knowing- not with the events that had occurred between them- he doubted the lad would judge him harshly any longer, and he was certain this would remain secret.

It was simply... not a good way to end the evening. Such a busy past few days, -angst, misery, foreboding, tears- Haytham toweled off quickly, wincing as he bent to dry his legs. It didn't sit well with him, exposing what wasn't a particularly pleasant piece of history. Though, admittedly, offending Connor wasn't desirable either.

Instead he though for a moment more, lips pursed before he met curious eyes will the slightest of grins.

"Yes, and no." He ignored the slight limp in his step, opening the connecting door to his bedroom. Making himself comfortable under the massive bear rug that covered the sheets, Haytham met curious eyes with a shrug. "Yes, I've participated in receiving pleasure." He carefully choose his words, chuckling at the image his mind conjured. "Very long ago... it was as if the gentleman had the genitalia of a sphere, and I -or rather, my rectum if you will- was a pyramid in shape. It... didn't work." Fingertips pressed together, Haytham offered an amused chuckle before extending a hand to Connor. 

"Simply stated, you are suited to my needs in a far superior way." A ghost of a smile lingered on his face, before he settled down. There was more to the story, sure, and he was positive it didn't answer all his questions- his own reaction to stimulation, his hesitance- but for now, those questions could wait. He made that known.

"Let's save the details for another time, to be shared over tea and a McFlurry, yes?" He'd forgotten his ribbon but let it be, muscles strangely relaxed and body drained. "I'd much prefer slumber-" A yawn interrupted him, Haytham moving to the side and patting the bed. "Now be a good little spoon, lay here, and accept my tired affections while I'm in the proper mood to give them."

-=-=-=-

Brown eyes widened. Connor wasted no time and tossed his towel over his shoulder; he was still a little bit damp but screw that! It wasn't often Haytham actually offered after-sex cuddles! Hell, this would be a first!

Hehe, little spoon. Oh, he could easily play the part of little spoon. Connor all but jumped on the bed and enthusiastically wormed himself under the heavy blankets, eager to seek out the warmth of his father's naked body. He still had questions; Haytham's _very strange_ explanation hadn't really answered anything. Instead it had made him even more curious. Clearly the subject of his father's first time bottoming held a story to it, but as curious as he was, Connor could tell that right now wasn't the right moment to press for a better explanation. 

Not now his father was in such a good mood he willingly offered him cuddles!

Connor shifted closer to him and sighed happily, glad to be able to wrap his arms around him without fearing for a snappy refusal. Now that he lay there, under the comfortable blankets, Connor realized how exhausted he was. Today had asked a lot from him; it had been very draining and the sex just now had helped him relax. “Thanks, dad...” he whispered and snuggled a bit closer, closing his eyes. 

Perhaps tonight there would be no nightmares.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I spent two hours on my birthday getting this chapter ready for uploading at my regular upload time because I love you guys so much! <3
> 
> I also hope that none of you are Hickey-haters. ^-^

The door slammed against the wall with enough force to send a small, decorative painting crashing on the floor as the door knob created a dent in the plaster. Connor stormed inside the apartment, uncaring of the water he splashed everywhere; it was pouring outside, an early Spring storm. He loved Spring, but today it did nothing to better his mood.

He should have never agreed to go into therapy. Stupid! Useless!

At Haytham's insistence William had contacted a few well known psychologists and psychiatrists to see if one was willing to help out. They all had long waiting lists, but one of them was willing to create room for Connor Kenway, whom she had seen on the news a few times. Dr. Lucy Stillman, a psychiatrist who, as luck would have it, specialized in people suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Connor was scheduled to talk with her about what had happened two times a week for now, each session taking up two hours. As promised, Haytham had come with him to provide support and comfort, but even so Connor was _this_ close to saying 'fuck this' and cancel the whole thing.

Dr. Stillman was nice he supposed, a friendly presence who gave him time and quiet when he needed it, and allowed him every opportunity to talk should he feel the need to. Even so, Connor did not agree with her methods. How was just talking things over supposed to help him? Talking about it wouldn't bring Kadar back, it wouldn't help them catch Lee, or Silas or Cutter, who had all escaped the raid in Brazil. That was what he wanted; to see justice served to him all. Not to talk about all they had forced upon him in an office with some woman he didn't even know recording everything he said.

All talking did was raking up memories and worsening his mood even further. She had said something along those lines; it will get worse before it gets better. Three sessions, he'd had three sessions with her so far and as far as Connor was concerned, it was a complete and utter waste of time. Yes, he _knew_ he had anger issues, he _knew_ he had mood swings and yes, he fucking _knew_ that what had happened in Brazil had fucked him up. He didn't need to be reminded!

He shrugged off his wet jacket and tossed it in a corner, kicked off his shoes and marched into the living room. Useless. Useless! ”Not helping.” he muttered as he walked towards the window and turned again, strolling towards the couch with his hands in his pockets. “Doesn't help jack shit.” Another sharp turn, straight towards the kitchen table. “A waste of time!” He stopped and turned, looking at Haytham with a frustrated expression on his face. “You heard what she said, didn't you?” Raising his hands Connor eyed the ceiling, adding a higher pitch to his voice to mimic Dr. Stillman's words this morning. “Seriously, she was like 'oh Connor! We know what your problem is, so what do _you_ think _you_ can do about it?' Fucking hell woman, if I knew _that_ I wouldn't fucking be there! That's _her_ job to solve, that what she's fucking _paid_ to do!”

Shoving his hands into his pockets again Connor turned again, shoulders hunched up and his back to Haytham. “I'm not going back. I quit. I tried and it's not doing anything and I hate it and I quit.” He could find some... other way to deal with all of this...

-=-=-=-

The entire ride home he'd been almost silent, Connor's continuous rants allowing little verbal exchange. There'd been quite the change in his little spoon- er, lad. While his disposition had typically veered on nonchalance, as of late he was on edge, tense. Flinching every time a person motioned in his general direction, arguing over very minute problems; Haytham had managed to avoid the tumultuous nature he now supposed he should acquaint himself with.

Truly it wasn't all horrible. At least when directed elsewhere it could be construed as amusing.

Sitting in a car, however, through a forty minute long tirade, complete with wild gestures and high pitched mimicking? Mm, no. No thank you.

Especially as he attempted to concentrate on work via blue tooth. He had no desire to attend, but if Hickey couldn't figure out why the microscopes seemed cloudier and were delaying the cellular evaluations...

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Haytham had merely told Connor in what he supposed could be construed as a 'clipped snap' that therapy would help, they would go, end of discussion.

Peering at the dented wall- which he'd now have to plaster and repaint, thanks Connor -and the fallen painting, Haytham watched him rant and mimic, an appearance of one ultimately unimpressed.

"Yes. We. Are."

Ignoring the glare, he turned his attentions to the fallen painting, righting it's position as we spoke. "Perhaps she's simply not an adequate therapist in terms of your needs, but we'll find another." Satisfied, grey eyes paused, looking over his shoulder. Still sulking and agitated. Haytham sighed, hand outstretch as he gently touched his sons shoulder as he approached. "It's not an easy task, lad, but this will be put behind you. I've no doubt in your capabilities to be strong-"

His phone rang again, Haytham dropping his forehead to Connor's shoulder for a moment before forwarding it to voicemail and straightening up. "As I was saying, I don't doubt your capacity to carry on as per-"

Another ring. Haytham's teeth grit, his hand leaving Connor's shoulder. Couldn't he have one uninterrupted minute with his son?!

"What?!"

_"We need you down 'ere, there's a problem wit tha 'scopes."_

"Yes, I am aware. I will be there. Just give me a moment." Haytham pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "... You're a strong capable young man. You will preservere with time and proper aid. Both will be provided to you, I'll make sure of it."

And he would, truly. After he dealt with his work issues....

-=-=-=-

"Yes. We. Are."

Connor stiffened, watching as Haytham picked up the painting. Not adequate. Fucking right. Find another? No way in hell. 

He nearly moved away from the hand that reached for his shoulder, the muscles in his jaw bulging as he gritted his teeth. This had _nothing_ to do with his capabilities to be strong, this simply had to do with the fact this therapy was a fucking waste of time because _talking did not help!_ How hard was it for his father to grasp that?

His hands clenched into fists as his father took the phone call, unblinking brown eyes on Haytham's face. The call didn't take a long, barely more than ten seconds, but Connor's expression did not change. He had never wanted to meet with a therapist. He had been willing to try after some coaxing, but he had never wanted to do it. And he refused to be forced into it.

“I am _not_ going back to her, dad. Not even when you get me another one. Get it through your skull.” he hissed, trying to keep from screaming. This wasn't his father's fault, he only tried to do what he thought was best, but he wasn't always right. Dr. Stillman had explained that his problems extended beyond PTSD, after he had thrown a vase through the room during the first session. Because of what he had been forced to endure had been so severe, he cropped everything up, everything he felt and all that troubled him – or so she had explained – and as a result of that he was quick to lash out violently without thinking, like a time bomb waiting to go off. It was the cause of his mood swings, the anger management issues and the issues he had with trusting strangers.

Connor _knew_ it was a problem, one he wanted to get under control, but surely there were other, _better_ ways to do that that didn't involve _talking._

“I don't want to do this.” he continued. “I'm not going to be _forced_ into something I want no part in!” He had been forced into unwanted situations enough already, and though this didn't compare, he simply wasn't going to do it anymore.

-=-=-=-

Neutrality, his face was a complete mask of it. It had to be.

Had Connor any idea how entirely difficult the last few weeks had been on Haytham, he may not have hissed. Or perhaps he would have. He had so little control as of late.

Haytham understood it, yes, but it caused no less aggravation. His own methods of coping with such would have to be altered, given his son's inability to curb his anger, even when inappropriately displaced.

His eyes fluttered shut, and his counted backwards, slowly. It didn't dissolve his anger, but it brought clarity, in it's own way.

"We'll discuss this later, perhaps when our tempers have ceased." Or decreased, rather. He doubted his son's anger ever dissipated, not that he blamed him. He didn't. He simply had other stresses in conjunction.

"For now, I think it best I head to work before they detonate my laboratory, and you can perhaps..." Well, he had no idea what Connor did in his spare time. To be frank, the lad hardly parted from him for more than an hour or so.

"... I suppose you can attend, if you wish to accompany me." It was added with great trepidation, Haytham aware of Connors faltering mood. "I won't be long."

-=-=-=-

Connor's expression changed rapidly, from frustrated anger to worry as Haytham made it clear he had to leave for work. He still had issues with being left to his own devices for so long. It was stupid, to feel so dependent on his father, the need to always stick close to him because he felt safer that way, even now, so close to his 22th birthday.

But it was beyond his control. It couldn't always be helped, there had been times Connor had had no choice but to stay home, but those times had been difficult, filled with anxiety and stress, pacing around and keeping an eye on the clock and the front door, _waiting_ for his father to come home again. 

He was an adult, yet in those moments he felt like a little kid all over again.

“I'll come...” he muttered and ran his hand over his hoodie; he had always been fond of hoodies, but ever since Brazil they had become daily wear for him. The hoodie gave him something to hide behind, a thin wall of fabric to keep him separated from the outside world It made him feel a little better, a little safer, especially when he had to leave the apartment and go outside.

There was nothing he could do at the company; most likely he'd just get in the way of his father trying to deal with whatever problems were happening now, but at least he had offered. Connor wouldn't say no.

-=-=-=-

Well, now. A greying eyebrow rose but his opinions were kept to himself. So eager to drop the squabble in favor of accompanying him to the laboratory. He should accept that and be done.

And yet his concerned bubbled, even as he silently held the door open for his son. He truly feared solitude that much.

A few waves and nods greeted them at the large double doors, Kenway Corportation a heap of booming business as always. Recent press, while horrible in it's content, seemed to boost business, or at least the story of Haytham, corporate head risking it all to find his son whom he'd kept hidden for years. Yes, it'd become a practical media pitch, a spectacular fairy tale with a supposed happy ending. If one was so disillusioned to believe post traumatic stress disorder, nightmares, and debilitating phobias that altered ones personality were, in fact, part of the fairy tale ending. But the curtains closed right after the happy rescue, the rest a struggle to be dealt with away from public eye. He'd rather it that way.

"The problem, Hickey?" He hadn't need to knock, Hickey already outside and waiting, nodding at Connor before addressing Haytham. 

" 'Scopes fuzzy, I 'ave no mind fo' this tech' stuff." A thumb pointed into the laboratory, Haytham rolling his eyes as Church poked his head out, screw driver in hand. 

"... Tell me you didn't take that screw drives to the microscopes."

"Uhhhh..."

"Church, it's a flat head. A _large_ flat head screw driver."

There was a pause, Church looking between the three. "... Is-is there another type of screw driver?"

... At least he wasn't the only person to face palm, Hickey shrugging. "Told 'im to leave it."

"I'm sure you did." Hickey was far too lazy to fix this himself. Shrugging off his suit jacket, Haytham went to throw on a lab coat, frowning. "Why do I smell sulfur?"

Another look, and Church reddened, shrugging. "What had happened was-"

He resisted the urge to maim him just barely, motioning for Connor to follow until Hickey held up his hand. "Just a sec, I 'ave somethin' for 'im." That did make Haytham turn around, looking back and forth between them. 

"Oh?"

"It'll jus' be a sec, my idea of conducive." 

Haytham twitched, but said nothing, looking back and forth between the two. "... Up to the lad. And I swear if it's vulgar-"

"Oye, your boy is nearly twen'y two, get over it already." A pat on the back and Hickey gestured to his office. "It's for ya birthday."

-=-=-=-

Connor kept his eyes on the floor as they entered the lobby of Kenway Corporations. He hadn't been here since Brazil, it felt weird coming back here. He caught Catherine, the secretary, smile and wave at him from behind her desk, and Dave the security guard giving him a thumbs up. The corners of his lips twitched at that. They still remembered him.

He trailed closely after Haytham as they took an elevator up to the laboratory in question. Connor mostly blocked out the following conversation between his father, Church and Hickey, and was about to follow his father inside to take a look at the actual problem, when Hickey cut in.

What... something for him? Connor, frowned, and glanced at Haytham. He didn't want to go anywhere Haytham wouldn't go, but this was for his birthday, and... he could trust Hickey, right? He was part of the team.

 _But Lee had been part of the team as well,_ the little voice in the back of his mind said. Connor's teeth grit. No, that was different. Lee was insane, and had always hated him. Hickey wasn't like that. Hickey wouldn't try anything, even though he stiffened at the pat on his back.

“... alright.” he muttered and Hickey grinned. 

“Awesome! This way.” He reached out again to place his hand on his shoulder, but this time Connor jerked away from it and took a step to the side, out of reach. Hickey did not comment on it and shrugged, though he did give Connor an odd stare – of course he knew that the boy had issues, but he wasn't as up to date as William was, who made it a habit to not talk about anything concerning Connor unless he knew for certain that Haytham would be okay with him telling. Sensitive, personal information and all that.

“No need to 'ave a fit.” he muttered and gestured for Connor to follow him, which he did after shooting his father one last glance. Whatever this was, it had better be worth it...

-=-=-=-

"Alrigh' ready?" He didn't wait, simply opening the door, a sultry, low voice hitting their ears. 

"Tommy baby, what's my stud muffin' doin', huh?" Long eyelashes and dark eyes, face made up and most importantly in Hickey's opinion- breasts bare and out, nipples a lollipop red and perked. "Oh? You brought a friend." She chewed her gum, popping a bubble. "That's extra, gimme fifty."

"He's not joinin' love." Clicking the door shut, Hickey gestured to the top drawer of his desk. "I don't like balls rubbin' against mine in the middle of shaggin' a gal." That and Haytham would cut them off with a dull scalpel. "Now bust open the drawer and strike a sexy pose for 'im. It's not loaded, unlike meself."

"Oh?" Hickey didn't hide his gaze, straight on her voluptuous backside before she grabbed a daringer gun from the drawer, breasts bouncing as she held it up and posed, doing a Charlie's angel type move.

"Perfect." He snapped a photo for the hell of it, the woman chuckling and posing again. 

"Anything for dadddddddy."

A haughty grin and he approached, licking his lips. "Mm, tha's right. Daddy treats his girlies we-"

The door opening snapped him out of his moment and Hickey turned, staring at Connor who looked ready to bolt. "Oye, oye! Sorry! The gun, dollie. " Grabbing it, he held it out to Connor, clearing his throat. Damn distractions, happened to the best of men.

"I'm venturin' a guess ya don't know who tha' belonged to?" Hickey explained, pointing to it. "A daringer, made in Britain about twen'y years ago. After everythin' I thought, ya know..." He shrugged, fishing through is pocket and grabbing his flask and one loose cigarette.

"Belonged to yer dad. Based of a model tha' belonged to 'is dad. 'Aytham was a good shot back in the day, and with how long it takes to get a gun in New York n' all, I figured this would suit just fine, should ya need it."

He didn't touch Connor again, but held it out to him. "To be fair it wasn' planned for yer birthday, but since it's ready, 'ave at it." A pause and, Hickey stepped aside, somewhat unwillingly. "... Ya can 'ave at her too first if ya want, I guess."

-=-=-=-

Connor wasn't really sure what to expect when Hickey opened the door to his office, but it certainly wasn't _that!_ Brown eyes widened as he took in the girl seated on his desk, her legs crossed, long hair draping down her back. Her clothing barely covered the necessities and those breasts definitely weren't natural.

Please don't tell him that _this_ was his gift to him?

“Er... Hickey?” he stammered but it went ignored as the girl hopped off the desk and opened a drawer, proceeding to strike over the top sexy poses with a... tiny gun? What the hell was going on?! Ugh... at least Hickey was enjoying himself, but why he had brought a prostitute into the office was beyond him. Either way, it had nothing to do with him.

Turning his back on the two Connor reached for the door handle and pulled it open, intending to go back to his father-

"Oye, oye! Sorry! The gun, dollie."

Pausing, Connor glanced over his shoulder and closed the door again, his eyes on the small weapon Hickey held in his hand. _That_ was his birthday gift? It didn't look like much, but... size wasn't everything, he supposed. And... it had belonged to his father? How had it fallen into Hickey's hands?

Uncertain brown eyes flicked up to Hickey's face before Connor reached out and took the daringer out of his hand, slowly twirling it around in his fingers. Lightweight and small enough to easily hide in his pocket... maybe... maybe Cutter wouldn't have managed to kidnap him had he carried this with him at the time. Unlikely, but still...

He glanced at the girl as Hickey stepped aside with some hesitancy and frowned; his face was slightly flushed but other than that his expression screamed 'uninterested'. “No thank you. I don't know where she's been. But...” He looked at the daringer again and nodded, before carefully hiding it in his pocket of his jeans. “thanks for this, Hickey. I... appreciate it.” More than the hooker anyway.

Best to keep the weapon hidden from his father for a while though, in case he did not agree with it. “Does dad know you bring prostitutes into the office?” he asked as he straightened his hoodie, pulling it down to cover the bulge in his pocket. How had he even gotten her passed security in the first place?

-=-=-=-

"Sure." A thing he and Haytham shared; awkward at thanks. Then again so was Hickey himself. He almost smiled at the next question, taking a swig of his flask. Mm, nothin' like the captain mid day.

"... He might. I'm sure he suspects somethin', but Church pissed him off real good so I'm in the clear." He paused giving the girl a playful swat on the ass. "Dollie, what's yer routine?"

Pursing her lips, she grabbed her discarded pair of glasses, face going grim. "Hello, I'm Teadora, with the drug enforcement administration. I'm going to need to examine the facilities, there was talk of street level drug peddling facilitated by an upper level client of your company. Access to records is imperative."

A loud , slow clap, and Hickey threw an arm around her shoulder, lighting his cigarette and inhaling. "She's gem, lil' older, but a true gem. Now, not to be rude, but yer dad will come lookin' and uh..." He whispered, even though it was well known. "I pre paid. Need me some time." With a pause, he turned once more, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Ah, and keep tha' gun safe. Yer dad doesn't 'ave to know yet." He grinned, standing between the hookers legs. "My balls are in your court so to speak."

-=-=-=-

… right. Well, _that_ was something he didn't need to be here to witness! He had no reason to tell Haytham about this, not the gun nor the hooker, but if he asked... well, lying to his father was something Connor had sworn never to do anymore.

“Er... have fun then, I think.” he muttered, but he wasn’t sure if Hickey even heard him, already busy hiding his face between the girl's breasts. Right! Time to go!

Connor quickly closed the door behind him, glad that the walls here were mostly soundproof. He quickly made his way back to the laboratory, where he found Haytham fussing with one of the microscopes. Church stood next to him, still making excuses. William and Pitcairn had arrived as well, as well as a few people he didn't know, but once glance at their name tags told him that they were interns. The fact that he didn't know them made him uncomfortable, even more so when they gave him curious looks – of course they had seen the news and this was the first time he had shown his face here since Brazil. Grumbling he tugged the hoodie further down to hide his face and walked around the interns in a wide arch before stopping near his father. “Got it to work yet?” he muttered. The sooner Haytham fixed the problem, the sooner they could go home.

-=-=-=-

"Mm?" He needn't look to know who spoke, proximity stating the obvious. As if he couldn't note the voice.

"Just a moment, lad." It was hardly a complex issue, a simple miscalibration of the bulb held on the underside of every microscope's slide holder. Not complicated, simply time consuming as the screws were horrifically tiny, nay impossible to see.

Connor's absence had given Haytham the chance to contemplate something of importance. It was almost a year since Ziio's unfortunate end, and Haytham coughed to remove the tightness in his throat. He pushed it aside, focusing on something positive.

Namely, his son's birthday. Neither of them had brought it up yet, even though it was two days from now. Of course considering what had happened last year, and the fact that Connor didn't seem interested in his birthday...

He'd never been one for celebration; even his own birthday for that matter. It seemed to matter little, yet with all that had occurred, between them and the like, it was hard to ignore.

Something needed to be done. Particularly if even Hickey had thought to give Connor something. Straightening up Haytham set the microscope aside. "I think we're ready, lad." A nod to Church and Pitcairn, Haytham waited until they were carefully situated in his car before raising a curious eyebrow. He saw no visible proof of present exchange...

"So lad." He watched Connor, eying him up and down at a red light. "What did Hickey give you?" He frowned, eye narrowed. "It wasn't the number to a lady of the evening, was it?" He'd have his balls for that...

-=-=-=-

Connor was more than glad to throw himself into the passenger seat of Haytham Roll's Royce. Buckling himself in he pressed himself against the window and closed his eyes so he didn't have to look at the scenery and other cars passing by as Haytham drove them home.

He did not answer immediately as they stopped for a red light, and shook his head. “No, he kept the girl for himself.” he muttered and reached down, pressing his palm over the hard bulge in his pocket, tracing the shape of the gun with his fingers. Hickey had said that Haytham didn't need to know about this yet, but he didn't want to beat around the subject. He didn't even need to carry it with him, seeing as he never went anywhere without his father.

“He...” Stopping again Connor removed his hand and stared at it, before pushing it into his pocket again, and shrugged his shoulders. “He gave me your old daringer. Or at least, he told me it once belonged to you. Don't ask me where he got it from, but he said, should I ever need it. Just in case.” Another shrug. Hickey had meant well with it. He was a weird guy, and a horrible pervert, but he wasn't a bad man, that was for sure. Hickey was allowed to have his quirks. 

-=-=-=-

He blinked. He looked at Connor and opened his mouth, then frowned. He offered a second blink again.

"... my Bianca?" He shook his head, elaborating. "Note, I said _my_ Bianca." His little gift to himself, from himself; he had discarded it after shooting a certain ex-bastard for attempting to murder him. Oh he remembered tossing it... perhaps Hickey had kept it? He couldn't fathom why but...

"... I can't say I entirely approve of you being in the possession of a gun at..." he carefully choose his words, frowning, "at this current stage in your healing process."

In other words, short tempers and fire arms simply did not mix. No, he'd dealt with enough people to know it as truth. Connor was still far too jumpy for that...

"Perhaps I should hold onto it until some time has passed. I think it best that way."

-=-=-=-

Connor frowned. Bianca?

He slowly turned his head to stare at his father's profile. He had _actually_ named his weapon 'Bianca'? What kind of weirdo named his gun?!

Ahem, then again, he had dubbed the iPad he had gotten from Sam on his birthday last year 'Bob', short-lived as it had been, so he shouldn't judge his father for naming his gun, he supposed. 'Bianca' still beat 'Bob' when it came to originality. 

“It's useless anyway.” he muttered, not really appreciating what Haytham was saying. Fuck, it wasn't like he'd whip it out and start shooting people! He wasn't _that_ fucked up. “It's not loaded and Hickey didn't give me any ammo, but whatever.” Reaching down into his pocket once more he pulled out the daringer and tossed it on the dashboard, refusing to look at it. “I don't care. You can have it back.”

-=-=-=-

He should have known that would be misconstrued. Most of what he said typically was under much more forgiving circumstances.

"It wasn't meant..." all words died in his throat. Connors face said it all, from the raised eyebrow to his twitching lips.

Right. Well then. Haytham took the daringer and placed in his own lap. His good luck charm, really. Of course he'd hardly thought of it as such at the time, but it was.

The ride home was spent in silence, Haytham's mind rapid in its thoughts, only halting as they silently ascended the elevator. Connor still refused to meet his gaze. Oh the joys of fatherhood. And lover-hood, if there was such a thing.

Back into their apartment they went, Haytham sighing as Connor brushed past him haughtily, quickly; not another argument. He refused to take part in such. Instead he ventured into the living room, flipping to Channel Nine on the way to fetch his laptop when, _"... And it seems like there may be some justice for the victims of the Rio de Janeiro Massacre."_

He listened intently as the two news casters chattered. _"Of the six surviving victims, two are ready to testify against a few select members of the cartel who were incapacitated. While there has been no comment from Kenway Corporation regarding their participation in the law suit, the two gentlemen are ready to argue their cases against the perpetrators."_ Eyes narrowed, Haytham balked; but, no. No, that... those weren't them!

The pictures clearly showed two well dressed either Portuguese or Hispanic men, but certainly not Silas or Cutter. _"These two men, Raoul Garcia and Jose Jimenez are known to be the head of the cartel that started the underground pit matches, leaving hundreds of young men dead. Among the rescued was Connor Kenway, heir to the Kenway Incorporated throne, worth an estimated-"_

He couldn't watch this.

No. No, this was entirely wrong. Haytham exhaled in a rush of shaky breath. They were pinning this on other men to keep the general public _happy..._ safe under the false pretense that every murderer received just deserts. But this... this was completely vile!

Cutter and Silas... they executed this idea, with the help of his friend Charles none the less. Nails dug into the palm of his hands, splitting skin. And they would, what? Walk away free after what was done to his son? To Ziio and his unborn child? To Kadar and the others who died in vein?

He shoved his laptop aside, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was no sense of justice of propriety in any of this!

-=-=-=-

"It wasn't meant…"

Haytham didn't finish and Connor slowly turned around in his chair, his back to his father, and pulled his legs up. His forehead rested against the cool glass of the car window, raindrops beating against it from the outside and he closed his eyes. It didn't matter what Haytham had meant with it, even if his words had insinuated that he was afraid Connor would start shooting people just because he was quick to lash out lately. It didn't matter, he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Once they were home Connor moved straight towards his bedroom and closed the door. Bedroom wasn't really accurate anymore; sure he kept most of his belongings here, but his truly personal belongings were in the master bedroom where he slept every night, curled up against his father's side. He even had claimed a spot in his father's closet for his own clothes, and had his toothbrush and other supplies in Haytham's bathroom instead of in the other one he used to use before.

This room... was more or less a storage room for all his other stuff now.

He pushed off the hoodie and stared into the mirror, watching his reflection stare back at him. He no longer looked as gaunt and pale as before, he was nearly back to his old weight again, mostly thanks to his father's cooking and insistence he ate, which he was actually doing properly again, and the shadows around his eyes were gone for the most part as well. There was improvement there at least. His eyes still looked haunted though, that same disturbed look Kadar had held in his eyes as well. Reaching up he ran a hand over the sides of his head and grimaced; ugh he'd need to shave it again. Sometimes he felt like leaving it and growing his hair long again, but then he remembered why he kept his hair like this in the first place. First for mom... and now for Kadar.

He sighed and turned his back on the mirror, leaving his hoodie down for now and left the room. To find his father, see what he was up to, and perhaps coax him into watching a movie with him, or playing a game on the Xbox.

Instead, Connor found him seated in the living room, his face in his hands and the TV turned on. Channel 9, but they were covering some sport story right now... nothing that would upset his father. And Connor could tell when Haytham was bothered by something.

He winced... was this because of what had happened this morning? Because of the stuff with Dr. Stillman? Or was this about the daringer? Was this his fault? Haytham was trying so hard to help him, was always there when he needed him even if that meant dropping his work. Haytham dealt with all his mood swings and fits of anger and never complained about it, dealt with him getting in the way, grating on his nerves and taking up all his time.

Shifting on his feet Connor worried his lower lip between his teeth, uncomfortable. When was the last time he had let his father know how much he appreciated his efforts? Most of the time, Haytham got an angry snap or a hiss as a thank-you. Connor couldn't get through this without him, but he was doing a horrible job at showing his thanks for all the help offered.

“Dad?” he asked softly and shuffled towards the couch, stopping right behind him. “Is something wrong?”

-=-=-=-

No. The news murmured still, merely a bit of background noise. This could not be happening. William had been there with them, had recognized Cutter and Silas. He was not mistaken. They were finding a scapegoat, closing the case for appearances sake. The proverbial villains captured so there was little else to fear, at least in the eyes of the public. Justice served.

But it was far from anything of the sort. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Haytham's mind reeled. He understood how it happened, why it happened, but how was this to aid his son's recovery? Allowing the duo to escape without trial, without punishment?

"Dad? Is something wrong?"

And he scoffed, unable to help it as he whispered: "Is something right?" Head withdrawing from his hand, he spared a glance at Connor, exhaling. For his own well being, 't was better he not know. Yet, should he find out and piece his reaction with the news... no, his reaction would merit far worse.

Get it over with. It was the best method. Connor would handle this poorly, but his presence was the only one to help minutely. With great trepidation he sighed, exhaling and stepping toward the bay window. Eyes on the Atlantic, it was almost peaceful, the calm before a tumultuous storm. He gestured, motioned for his son to stand next to him before moving to stand behind him.

An awkward but strong arm tentatively wrapped around shoulders. Connor responded well to his touch, it soothed. Hopefully it would lighten the delicate news.

"... They've began pursuing a trial date for the victims in the pits." Voice silken, Haytham continued, eyes on the ocean. "They're pressing charges against two men, Garcia and I believe Jiminez." He answered the question before it was even asked.

"Cutter and Silas are still missing and it appears..." Heavy, agitated sounds left him, an anger in his eyes as he saw eyes widen in the reflection of the window. His grip tightened reflexively. "They're prosecuting lessers in their place to calm the masses rather than search further. The case will indubitably close."

He lacked soothing words, simply because their was no comfort to offer. A second arm joined the first, tightening around Connor. Angry. He was so very angry. Caught in between comforting his son and throwing something against the wall.

And he could only imagine what Connor now felt. His grip tightened further, his gulps thick. Damn it... damn it all...

-=-=-=-

Connor frowned when Haytham wouldn't immediately answer him, and instead straightened to walk over to the grand window. He followed, taking his usual spot on the left and felt himself relax just a bit as a strong arm wrapped around him, pulling him close until his back rested against his father's chest.

Oh, this was about the trial? Good! A trial was good, right?

Right?

“What?” Who? Who the hell were Garcia and Jiminez?!

Haytham's arm tightened around him as he tensed, the full meaning of the words sinking in as his father explained further. No no no no no. No. No! NO! This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to go! They couldn't close the case, they weren't done yet!

Cutter and Silas... they'd go free? They could... they could go and... and rebuilt and do all those horrible things all over again?!

Shaking fingers shot up and tightly wound themselves into his hair and Connor attempted to curl in on himself, Haytham's grip around him the only thing keeping him in place. It wasn't possible, they couldn't do this. They couldn't fucking do this!

Connor was barely aware of how his breathing picked up speed, how his shaking increased and how his trembling fingers went numb as they always did in the throes of panic. Cutter and Silas were out there somewhere, free to do what they had always done. They would never stop, unless someone stopped them... and the way things stood now, it wasn't going to happen.

Soft whimpers escaped him, broken sobs hitching his breath as he tried to breath around his panic, slumping in his father's hold around him, tears dripping from his eyes.

What if they came back for him? Because they had captured him, Haytham had dragged the law forces all the way down to Brazil to get him out, resulting in the death of so many. What if Cutter and Silas wanted revenge? What if... what if they were waiting for him right now, outside, across the street?!

Connor's head snapped up and he made a wild grab for the wall, struggling, not to get away from Haytham, but to drag himself away from the window. Even if their apartment was located on one of the highest floors of the building, he couldn't stay near the window! What if they saw him?!

-=-=-=-

Shuddering breaths reached his ears, Connor practically a shaking, limp mass in his arms. And for all his composure, all his logical reasoning- not a single sentence of solace could leave his lips. Simply, there was no comforting words to offer, no alternative solution to the pain. This was unjustified, wrong, incorrect, unfathomable-

"Connor-" The shaking had turned to struggles of what he could only label as hysteria. Tears, cries, desperate words, and Haytham could not decipher the jumble. Unintelligible words... and he had nothing sensible to offer. Apologies could not right this.

"Lad." Haytham loosened his grip but only to turn Connor around. Connor wasn't listening, his head thrashing, tears spilling about him as he struggled, in between a fit of tears. "Shhh, lad." As awkward as it may be, it was the only thing that may help. Ignoring the bruises he was bound to have from his thrashing body, he pulled him closer. Close enough to engulf him in an embrace, a tight one, his chin resting atop of his head with great effort.

He would make this right. His promise was sealed with a kiss to his dark hair, given when the tumultuous shaking calmed somewhat. He didn't know how exactly, he didn't know when but he would make this... not right, but at least _better._

"... I've to contact William... I'm venturing a bet he didn't know about this." Not with Kenway Corporation's lack of involvement. Still, he would not leave Connor, not yet. "When you're ready, in due time." There'd be no rush, not with this. He may lack patience, but Connor had every reason to react this way. He'd let him vent for as long as he needed.

-=-=-=-

It took quite some time for Connor to calm down and his shaking died down to mere trembles. His face was wet, an equally wet spot soaking into Haytham's shirt, and his eyes were dazed, but his breathed slowed down to a more normal level, though Connor still held a tight grip on his father's shirt.

These panic attacks... they were exhausting, and they always came so suddenly, without warning to overwhelm him until he drowned in them. How much longer could he keep on dealing with this?

He knew one thing... it wouldn't get better until Silas and Cutter were safely behind bars. Or dead. Lee as well.

Connor's teeth clenched together. Yes. Dead. They deserved to die a death that was at least as equally gruesome as the death that had been forced on Kadar, if not worse. Something long, something drawn-out... they didn't deserve anything less, and he would do it himself if he could.

Revenge. It wasn't a healthy thought, but he'd cling to it nonetheless.

A slow blink, followed by an equally slow nod and Connor swallowed thickly. “They can't get away with this...” he muttered with a voice that was both thick and hoarse. “They can't.” Connor pulled away then, just enough to give Haytham more room to actually breath, and eyed the wet spot his tears had left on his shoulder. He hated crying in front of others, yet he was doing it an awful lot lately. He supposed no one could blame him for it, but it was still... embarrassing. Either way, it was beyond his control, like so much was lately.

“Call him... he needs to know.” Taking a deep shaky breath he ran the back of his hand over his eyes and blinked a few times. His other hand remained clutched in Haytham's shirt.

-=-=-=-

Every word his son spoke rang with truth. Their allowance to escape was intolerable. He made no attempt to remove Connor's hand, placing his own larger one of his, the other fishing through his pocket to collect his phone. He pressed the second automated number, only having to wait a moment.

"William-"

_"I already saw."_

Taken aback by what was a hiss, Haytham blinked. "Ah."

 _"These idiot reporters and the insolence of the Brazilian police is astounding. Not to mention the FBI and there lack of tact."_ He heard a lot of papers being shuffled around, followed by the sound of William's fingers typing and him sighing. He was on speaker, that much was clear, as was William's rather horrid mood.

Again, he could not place blame. "What are our options?" More furious clacking, and this time the sigh was exhausted.

 _"... I honestly can't say."_ It took a few seconds for him to answer, and yet another sigh was emitted, a long, tired one. _"I've been pushing for days now but there isn't anything. Not a paper trail, no passport use- they probably dumped theirs and had back ups made, from the looks of it... but Haytham..."_

William trailed off, handing rubbing over his face, over dark circles. _"... it doesn't look good. Everyone wants this to disappear, and with the few number of victims still alive and their lack of knowledge- some of them are so traumatized and in fear that they won't cooperate. The other are probably willing to settle, to close the case in fear of their lives."_

Silence again, and William worried his lip. _"... I'm sorry. I can only imagine what the news is doing to you. D-does Connor know?"_

"I informed him thusly." His hand tightened over his son's, thumb stroking a knuckle. William nodded over the phone and exhaled.

_"Yeah, better he hear it from you than find out elsewhere."_

"I suppose." He knew it to be true, really. It didn't make giving the news any more pleasant.

_"He's okay then?"_

"Besides the initial and very justified aggravation, yes." He made sure to meet brown eyes as he said that. Emphasis on justified. If Connor ever needed an excuse to lash out, this was the time to do so. All in all, he'd been comparatively calm.

_"Of course. And you?"_

"Going through the options. Letting these two escape isn't one of them."

 _"Agreed, believe me. I'm up to my neck in paperwork just trying to sort this out."_

Haytham could but nod, William's tired voice registering from over the phone. He really was doing everything he could, a true friend.

"I don't doubt it, and I do appreciate it."

 _"Think nothing of it."_ A clacking sound later, and William sipped his cooling coffee. _"Look, I'm going to go bury myself in some of this- to see if they maybe revisited a location. Go and take care of your son, I'm sure he needs affection, even your awkward brand of it."_

"Ha ha, always the comedian. Stick to your day job."

 _"Mm. Will do. Tell Connor to take care, and I know he probably doesn't want to hear this, but happy early birthday."_

Haytham nodded, responding with a simple 'will do' before hanging up the phone with a small click, focusing his attention back to Connor.

He rarely felt sympathy. Yet it was all he felt, tucking his phone away and fingering long hair. "Bath?" He gestured slowly, beckoning towards the master bedroom. "Then maybe a few sleeping tablets. You've had an exhausting day, a brief nap may serve you well." That and Haytham needed to think, needed to do some research on his own. There must be something he could do, as a father and partner...

-=-=-=-

He couldn't hear what was said over the phone. He heard William's angry muttering and ranting, but it was impossible to actually make out the words. It was clear that William was just as angry over the whole subject as they were.

He nodded slowly, and reluctantly disentangled himself from his father. A bath sounded more than great. Sweat born from fear was fucking gross.

Following his father to the bathroom Connor let him fill the tub with hot water as he slowly pulled off his clothes, his movements sluggish and a little lethargic. He felt tired enough he doubted he even needed sleeping pills, but it was unlike he'd be able to take a nap without them anyway, with what how his brain was conjuring up unwanted images and thoughts he did not want to be reminded of.

With the last article dropped on the tiled floor Connor turned to look at himself in the large mirror. His fingers touched the small bump, where he had allowed one of his ribs to heal crooked – a physical reminder of Cutter – before they moved up and his fingertips traced the thin, white line over one of his pectorals – a physical reminder of Kadar, where he had slashed him with the machete.

He had been beaten so easily... in both fights he hadn't proved to be much of a match. Connor wasn't weak; all the free running he did – or used to do anyway – had always kept him fit but more in an athletic way than anything else. Built for speed, not for strength, though he did have strength in his arms because of all the archery he did. Even so, perhaps if he had been stronger, he could have...

Hands clenched into fists at his side and he gritted his teeth. He still could. Become stronger. Then, if something like this ever happened again, he could put up a decent fight and not be pushed around anymore and be forced into things. He could defend himself then, and protect others.

Tomorrow. He would begin tomorrow. Start simply, with push-ups and the like, and later on... later on he could perhaps make use of the gym at the company.  
Yes. It made him feel a little better, knowing that there was something he _could_ do! And perhaps... through this, he could vent his anger as well! Surely that would work better than talking. Hah, suck on that, Stillman!

And... on the offset that they would find Cutter and Silas, well... he could turn the tables on them then.

Turning around Connor was unaware of the grim smile he had on his face as he walked towards the tub and stepped in, sinking down until the hot water reached his chin. “Thanks dad... I can handle it from here.” Surely Haytham would want some time for himself as well... Connor could push his own insecurities about being alone aside for now to give him that at least... because really, what could happen to him in the bathtub?

-=-=-=-

Scalding water. Haytham frowned, but knew full well it's what Connor enjoyed as of late. Water had always been the sign of cleanliness. Thoughts drifted to Cutter and Silas again, a frown encasing his features. Perhaps he should stay.

"Thanks dad... I can handle it from here."

Far be it from him to be obedient, but there was something to the look in his son's eyes that made him twitch. That smile spoke of elaborate planning, the likes of which he could imagine running rampant through Connor's head.

... It wasn't his business. Haytham rose silently, nodding. He was entitled to think what he wished, so long as he didn't act upon it.

"I'll be in the living room, should you require anything." Leaving the door open, he made a grab for his laptop, dialing William's number again and getting to making a pot of strong coffee. "William, I want the details, every little bit you've acquired thus far, sent to me." It was bound to be an absurd amount, but even so Haytham set his computer down, lips pressed to a thin line. They'd find something. They were bound to find something.

~*~

He'd let Connor sleep for longer than expected, giving up on dinner and ordering a pizza instead.

Barely anything. Three hours of typing, of speaking to William and he'd hardly gotten anywhere. Even using an ArcMap, courtesy of the Department of Homeland Security, there was much left untraceable being that its primary focus was the United States. Haytham sipped coffee, his fourth cup of the evening. Doubtful Silas or Cutter would even attempt a stay on the continental U.S.

And it lead to so many other locations. Borneo, a forest in the Amazon, Europe, Asia, Africa- what he could map was limited in more remote parts of the world, namely the secluded islands around Indonesia, South America, and the Sahara. You know, the area's they'd most likely _be._

His frustration only mounted as hours passed, pizza arriving and turning stone cold as he typed away. His gut said overseas, and he trusted his gut. He just couldn't fathom where they'd head to. Particularly with the manhunt through and a lack of search party giving them lee way to travel where they saw fit.

Into his sixth hour he bookmarked a possible location, William off to contact a few friends located throughout continental Europe and Asia alike. Perhaps a money based reward would refresh a few memories.

What was fifty thousand dollars for his son's happiness anyway?

Speaking of his son... shutting the laptop, he sluggishly made his way to their shared bedroom- honestly, the lad took up so much space on the bed it may have very well been his own- before he knocked softly. "I don't suppose you're hungry?" Honestly, his appetite was far from the like, but he'd muster through it if Connor wanted to eat. Particularly with is birthday being in just a few short hours. Besides when had he ever said no to mushroom pizza and a two liter of mountain dew?

-=-=-=-

Connor lay sprawled out over the mattress when Haytham walked in to wake him up, tangled up in the sheets with the pillows either near the foot of the bed, or on the floor. It was a small wonder Connor hadn't fallen on the floor yet himself.

He stirred slowly, blinking a few times and stretched out, wincing as his shoulders popped. Whoa, he had... slept quite decently this time, especially considering he had slept without his father within reach. Probably thanks to those sleeping pills, but he was wary of using them more often. Surely it wouldn't be healthy to take them every night.

He blinked groggily at Haytham and sat up slowly. Food? He wasn't particularly hungry right now, but if he wanted to through with his plan he'd need to keep up with eating properly. “I can eat something...” he muttered and flopped back onto the bed, taking a few more seconds to just lay there and wake up some more, before he worked on untangling himself from the sheets.

He slept naked, as he usually did, but he wasn't interested in sitting in the living room with his junk showing. Wrapping the blankets around his body he stood up and shuffled into the living room, his black bed hair sticking out in all directions, minus the feathers.

The table was a mess, Haytham's laptop sitting among scattered papers and notes, as well as a pizza box with an uneaten, cold pizza. Hm... pizza was great and all, but he missed his father's cooking. Still, he wouldn't complain and slumped down in a chair and reached for the box.   
“Any chance you're gonna cook again sometime soon?” he asked as he picked up a pizza slice and stared at it before taking a small nibble.

Yes, he did better at eating, but it was still a chore at times. He'd do better with his father's cooking than cold pizza, even if it was mushroom pizza.

“Did you find anything?” He sat up straighter and looked at the various notes strewn about, but there was nothing he could make sense from.

-=-=-=-

A look over to his son's bed ridden head and well rested self and he almost smiled. Devoid of feathers and his arm bands and he was still quite the... well, he looked dashingly charming when awoken from a slumber. So much so, he neglected to answer the question immediately.

"Oh." Had he looked forward to it so much? He'd cook more often, then. "Apologies. I became busied with..." he gestured, grabbing a slice of pizza and nibbling himself. "Mm. Unfortunately I haven't found much... well, not empirically."

He opened his laptop, opening the ARCmap and zoomed, over continental Asia. "Bare in mind this is solely our suspicions, but knowing Silas, his preference tends to be of grand paradise rich in what he'd call merchandise."

He gestured, more towards Thailand, India, and Indonesia. "Now Bali, Thailand, and a few other areas are specifically known for their human trafficking which would in turn provide a significant advantage for his twisted games." Another bite of pizza, and Haytham spoke as if mentioning the weather, chewing before responding. "The fact that many are prostitutes would contribute to the ease of disappearance; no one will, theoretically miss the unwanted element lingering about."

As callous as that sounded. And he was sure it sounded that way and added something softly.

"Prostitutes or otherwise, I won't abandon the cause. This isn't about being a remembered part of society. It's the principle. Human beings are not to be tread upon and treated as pawns in a corrupt game." Having said that, Haytham leaned back, hand covering his sons briefly. "I'll find them, mark my words. The tirade of violence ended in Brazil."

-=-=-=-

Asia... it made sense, but... would they have really gone there? How was the police ever going to catch them when they were so far away?

 _Unless,_ the little voice in the back of his mind whispered; _unless you do it yourself. You don't need the police. You and your dad, against them. You could finish what they started. Get even._

Connor tensed and quickly shook his head, banning the words away. As tempting as that sounded, what could they do? Even if they were in Asia, for which they had no proof, how were they ever going to find them there?  
And Lee? What about Lee? Wasn't he priority?

Ah, but... Haytham had found _him_ as well, against all odds. Of course, only because Silas had streamed his fights, giving Haytham something to track, but he had still done it. He desperately wanted to believe that his father could do it a second time...

“I was thinking...” he muttered as he placed his pizza slice down, despite having only taken a few nibbles, and peered closer at the screen. “Can I... use the gym at the company for a while? Because...” an awkward shrug and his eyes pulled away from the screen to stare at the wood of the table. “Cutter beat me so easily... even Kadar, who wasn't trying hard... I want to train. Get stronger, better. Just in case something like this ever happens again.” It didn't hurt to be prepared.

“Is that okay with you?” Looking up Connor locked eyes with his father. It would mean leaving the apartment more often to join his father at the company, but it would be for the better. And he _wanted_ to do this.

-=-=-=-

Training, hm? Haytham had simply nodded, giving his approval while glancing at the map. Yes, of course. Except he'd provide a little more than a simple punching bag and weights.

~*~

The day to follow, Haytham lead Connor to the fourth floor gym, unfortunately enough in business apparel. To be frank, his plan had been thwarted, the likes of which saw him in the boxing ring with his son only to drop him off there. None the less, a few last minute adjustments had been made, and he'd fair fine.

"Unfortunately I'm required in about ten minutes else where..." Walking past a few weight benches, past the dumbbells and aligned treadmills, Haytham nodded to a few employees before standing at what was a sort of fork in the gymnasium. "To the left is the pool, heated, and that leads to the bathing facilities for the men. To the right, three boxing rings..." It was all visible, the glass showing a few people doing laps, but the boxing area noticeably vacant. He continued with a slight tone of disappointment.

"I wanted to participate, but..." He frowned slightly, waving. It was something unavoidable, and there was something he needed to discuss with William afterward. A clap on his son shoulder, and Haytham lead him through the doors, a few punching bags and pull up bars organized adjacent and opposite of each ring, respectively. "I suppose you could warm up here until I return-"

"Who's warmin' up wot?"

He didn't need to turn around but did so anyway, Hickey standing behind him shirtless, a pair of sweat pants low on his hips, a fresh sheen of sweat on his chest and brow.

"Oye, eyes up here, 'Aytham."

"Oh don't flatter yourself."

An eye roll met the almost cheeky grin, Haytham looking between Connor and Hickey. "A little extra curricular activity if you will. Unfortunately my participation will be delayed-"

"You? You're gonna box yer son?" 

A frown, and Haytham's brows furrowed. "I'm more than capable."

"It's not _that._ Yer his _dad."_ He looked between the pair, shrugging. "I wouldn't wanna hit me own dad, tha's for true."

Huh. He looked at Connor again for a moment, contemplating. He hadn't thought of that... Connor was accustomed to his touch so he assumed that would be best.

"... Well it's... a little complicated-" He needn't give away unnecessary information, but Hickey just shrugged. "Well, I've got nothin' ta do." He faced Connor, giving him a shrug. " 'ave at it?"

-=-=-=-

Ehhhh.... wait. Hickey instead of his father? Umm....

Wellllll, he supposed he had less qualms about throwing a punch Hickey's way, but... He sighed. _Get over yourself!_ he mentally berated himself. Hickey was one of the good guys and he seemed genuinely interested to help out. And Haytham was going to leave for that meeting or whatever anyway, whether he accepted Hickey's offer or not. Better to stay with him, than wait for his father alone.

“Fine... just...” He glanced around and gestured at the boxing ring and the punching bags. On the floor were a couple of padded kick shields and hand targets for martial arts training. He shrugged awkwardly. “I... guess I wouldn't even know where to start.” He had never voluntarily gone to a gym before, it had never been his thing. But Hickey looked like he knew what he was doing.

“Fine. Alright.” Best get it over with. Pulling down the zipper of his hoodie Connor shrugged it off and draped it over a nearby chair, leaving him in a tight tank top, sweat pants and sneakers. He wasn't doing this for fun.

He was doing this because he had to. That, and... it might help him with his stress levels, that would be a major plus if he could vent his frustrations out on a willing Hickey.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked Haytham as he straightened his tank top. Not too long, he hoped. He wasn't willing to punch his father but he'd still rather spar with him.

-=-=-=-

He watched him slip off his hoodie, concentrating on the small amount of risen keloid tissue, given to him by the very arrow he accidentally shot. How Connor managed to utilize one with such skill...

"As soon as I can manage, lad." A clap on his shoulder followed by a squeeze, and Haytham turned to Hickey, eyes narrowed. "Make an attempt to avoid corrupting my son with your perversion, mm?"

"Oh come off it, he's almost twen'y two! Like the kid don't know what cunt or cock is, by god."

Eyes rolling again, a common occurrence when around Hickey, Haytham gave Connor a final wave before adding with a smirk. "Break a leg, preferably his right one."

"... I'll break your leg."

"What was that?"

"... Didn' say a word."

"Mhm. That's what I thought." He left with a tad of trepidation, not solely because he was leaving Connor to his own devices. No, no Hickey he could trust. It was the news he'd bring William that was bound to turn his head.

"Thought he'd never go." It was said without malice, Hickey letting the door shut behind him before eying Connor just a moment. "... Relax. Tha's rule number one in fightin', any type a fightin'. If ya not relaxed, you're gonna tense up, make jerky mov'ments and hurt yerself somethin' awful." He could only imagine what had gone on under Cutter and Silas's eyes. Bunch of sociopaths, those two.

It's why he added, shortly. "... 'N don't think I don't know how difficult tha' can be." Connor didn't seem any less tense, Hickey climbing between the ropes to get into the ring, standing in the center. "Your dad was the same way fo' a while. A bit younger than you, but constantly on edge. " He walked forward, offering Connor a hand up. "It didn't do him any favors. And I'm sure as shit not gonna try somethin'. Not my style and I like my head where 'tis."

He settled against the rope, grasping Connor's hand and pulling him upward, allowing him to detangle himself. "Now... ya wanna learn the 'propa' way to fight, or... somethin' maybe a lil' dirtier? Tell me wot your aimin' to learn."

-=-=-=-

Connor watched his father go, and slowly eased out his breath when the door closed behind him. Right. He turned to the ring; Hickey had already climbed in and was extending his hand to help him up. 

Now that Hickey mentioned it, he did feel horribly tense. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and his teeth were tightly gritting together; his whole body was stiff with tension, and forcing himself to relax was harder said then done. 

Connor ignored the offered hand and reached for the ropes instead – he wasn't that pathetic that he needed help climbing in, dammit, even if it was meant well – but Hickey grabbed it nonetheless and pulled him up and into the ring. Connor jerked his hand back as soon as he could and fixed him with a glare, narrowing his eyes at the man. He was already regretting agreeing to this – no doubt this would require a lot of close contact... but he could either be a coward, give into his fear and stop this before it even began... or he could grit his teeth and deal with it because he had to get over this sooner rather than later.

He just... preferred a warning or a notice beforehand, instead of just... _grabbing_ him. Even if it was just his hand.

“I dunno.” he muttered and shrugged. “The only reason I'm even doing this is because...” another pause and he grit his teeth even harder, the muscles in his jaw bulging under the tension. It was very unlikely that Hickey had seen the footage of the streams (good god Connor _hoped_ he hadn't seen it!) and he didn't know how much Hickey knew.

“In case something like this ever happens again, I want to be able to defend myself properly. So... whatever you recommend I guess.”

-=-=-=-

"Jesus kid. Yer gonna break yer fuckin' teeth."

It was akin to hopping into a time machine, circa seventeen year old Haytham, minus the shot gun and icy stare.

"... Damn you got your dad's anger, huh?" You could feel it, his temper was tangible, obvious, and Hickey stepped back for a moment, more curiosity than anything else. "Ya gotta calm down, kid. Cutter was a fucker back when I knew 'im. " He watched Connor tense before sighing loudly. Alright, plan B.

He stretched, nonchalantly, rolling his shoulders before going over a few techniques in his head. "I guess I could teach ya wot yer dad knows. Kick boxing, some kapiwara or whatever crap- that he'll have to teach you- hmm, there is boxing, we can do tha'..." He kept a space between them, mentioning almost off hand. "It's wot he learned before takin' on Reginald. Poor kid, he was more than pissed off findin' out what he did to his fam'ly." To get Connor curious was to get him talking. And that would, hopefully, make him calm down enough to get him started, at least on some basic tactics.

"Palm out, feel the indentation, towards your wrist, were hand n' it meet?" He demonstrated, holding out his own palm. "Breakin' someone's nose is easy as fuck all with this."

-=-=-=-

Dammit, he was _trying_ to calm down!

Taking a few deep, slow breaths Connor slowly unclenched his hands, wiping his clammy palms on his sweatpants. Hmm... kickboxing. Yeah that was the stuff he meant.. kicks and punches and the like. He had speed, and he had strength, it was mostly the proper techniques he needed.

He hadn't known Haytham had done kickboxing and... what did he say? Kapi-something?

“Dad has mentioned Reginald before.” he muttered as he looked at his palm. Yeah yeah, he knew how to break someone's nose that way. Had never done it before, but he had seen movies in which it happened. Dropping his hand he looked at Hickey again with a slight frown on his face. It was true that Haytham had mentioned Reginald before, and Connor knew that there was a story there... history... but his father had never shared details with him. Perhaps it was too personal, or maybe it simply did not matter but it was clear Hickey knew about. And if Hickey knew, why couldn't he?

Besides... Connor knew nothing about Haytham's side of the family. He couldn't say he wasn't curious. “What did he do?”

-=-=-=-

Hook line n' sinker. Good.

Although his surprise did show; Haytham only mentioned him, eh? If he'd been a man like William, he'd politely drop the subject and suggest he ask his father because it wasn't his place to give that information away.

... but he wasn't William, thank god for that.

"Reginald's single handedly the reason you born." He shrugged at Connor's confusion, gesturing his er, parts. "Don't take this the wrong way, but yer dad- until seventeen or so- was a blatant homosexual. And I mean blatant, primpin', fixin' 'is hair- we 'ad buzz cuts it was mili'try esque trainin' and he'd still fix 'imself." Ugh, he shuddered. No dames for miles, just hairy, sweaty men. Bleh.

"Anyway, 'Aytham was into blokes only- had both the Holden brothers wrapped around his finger but was known for likin' foreigners." He held up his fists in a stance gesturing to Connor. "Upright, block your face with your fast hand, plan attacks with the stronger one- usually the one you write with." He continued, lightly.

"So, Reginald was responsible for bringin' 'Aytham there. " He frowned, gesturing for Connor to raise his hand up just a little more before nodding. "Apparently his sister was kidnapped on his first birthday n' some burglars or the like killed 'is dad. 'Aytham turned ten the same day... saw 'is dad take 'is last breath." It explained why he was so damn cold all the time, at least. Didn't justify it, but it explained it.

"Well, apparently 'is mom shipped 'im off with the sister's to be fiancé, Reginald. I don't know why, but I know he hates her for it- didn't attend her funeral or anythin'." Queen Anne's Square was still uninhabited. Pity, the place was a fuckin' mansion.

"Well, Reginald- 'I don't care what 'Aytham tells you, he was fifteen and didn't know jack shit- took advantage of 'im." He snarled, shaking his head. "Sleepin' with a fifteen year old that relied on 'im for five years. 'Aytham said he should 'ave saw it comin', but Reginald was...at least forty-one." Again he shook his head, before gesturing at his hand. "You can throw the first punch into me palm. Gauging technique, so keep it light."

-=-=-=-

…

Kay, maybe he shouldn't have asked.

Connor stayed quiet nonetheless, listening to what Hickey told him, but he quickly gathered that this was indeed very personal information. Shit... if dad found out that Hickey had told him this, they could both get into serious trouble. He should really tell him to stop talking already, but Connor found himself morbidly fascinated either way.

It was interesting to hear that Haytham had been a blatant homosexual in his teenage years and strangely enough, it was not even that surprising.

The whole part where his father got shot on Haytham's tenth birthday though... jesus... his childhood had been shitty. It... explained a lot, actually. Maybe, when Haytham felt ready to tell him this himself, he could pretend it was the first time he heard it. But that would mean lying...

Haytham had told him that he had bottomed for someone else many years ago... and that it hadn't exactly been... great. Had that been with Reginald? When he was fifteen? With a guy in his forties? It was... mind-boggling, and quite fucked up to be honest.

It was no wonder Haytham acted the way he did at times, it really wasn't, Connor mused as he clenched his hand into a fist and swung it forward into Hickey's palm, probably a bit harder than he was supposed to. “Then what happened?”

He shouldn't ask... he really shouldn't ask. Damn his own curiosity.

-=-=-=-

Oof. Kid had a hard right hook. His hand stung a little, but good. Good form. "Now the left, alright?"

He continued in between brief suggestions and commentary. "Well, 'Aytham was always curious to find out wha' happened exactly, to his family n' all. Much against Reginald's wishes, but he continued the search anyway, tryin' to piece things together n' the like..." 

He paused, gesturing for Connor to start on kicks, a pivoted one first. "Again, we wasn't all that close at the time, I knew him more through William so again, details are fuzzy, but your dad, needless to say, got suspicious n' started askin' Reginald questions. Apparently information started gettin' fuzzy and confused, so he grew more suspicious. Suspicious enough to buy that lil' daringer." He switched hands, wincing. Shit Connor was stronger than he'd thought.

"Well... it was midnight, one night, n' Haytham had wanted to just walk around for a bit. Said to Will he'd meet him in fifteen minutes, n' if ya know yer father, he's always on time. But... he didn't show. After about a half hour we started lookin', I was accompanyin' Will, the Holden brothers went in another direction, you get it. Well, it's when we came across the two of 'em."

Even now, so many years later, it was hard to believe it happened. Hickey paused, exhaling. "He was pretty beat up, yer dad, but was still doin' his damnest. Reginald had hired some lackies, even he 'imself was there, just watchin' for a bit. Gun was drawn n' everythin' before he took a shot at your dad. Or, tried too.

"Between you n' me, I've never seen a man move as fast as William that night. Missed him by a breath, but William got 'em." If he was to be brutally honest, Charles had helped greatly but he doubted Connor wanted to hear that part.

"Well, needless to say...Reginald wouldn't stop reachin' for his weapon and 'Aytham did what anyone would do... he shot 'im." He was said lightly, a shrug accompanying it as Hickey stood straight. "... after that, he left the military, went straight to college, grew his hair out and started bangin' women. Reginald honestly just twisted 'im I guess, didn't want nothin' to do with blokes after that. Well, not for a while anyway. But, that's that, really." Hickey motioned again, pointing to Connor left hand. "Hook needs work in tha' one, we'll get to that soon."

-=-=-=-

Connor did not respond to that, still trying to process what he had just been told. It almost seemed too... too dramatic to be real! That, and Hickey was known for his wild stories. Even so... a part of him believed it. It explained so much of Haytham's personality, the little things he did, the quirks he showed. But to think that his father had shot someone... granted, if this was all true, then Reginald had it coming. Still, Connor would never have guessed Haytham to be capable of killing another person at point blank range... that was a _lot_ to take in.

There was still a lot he didn't know about his father though, that much was clear. “I don't think that he will be pleased that you told me this. Seems too personal.” he muttered as he rubbed his sore knuckles, but Hickey just shrugged.

“What 'e don't know, don't hurt 'im.”

Good point, but keeping things from Haytham... it wasn't right. Connor sighed. He'd have to figure out a way to break this to him gently, and hope that he wouldn't get too angry at them both...

He tried not to think too much about what he had just been told, and focused on his punches again. No sense in worrying about it now... he had enough to worry about already.

~*~

Thirty minutes later Haytham still hadn't returned. Hickey kept him busy, making him switch between kicks and punches. So far he hadn't tried to send any of them Connor's way, but it was likely that Hickey understood that it was still a bit too early for that. Connor couldn't even tolerate a simple touch from anyone who wasn't his father... it wasn't wise to send a fist or kick in his direction, even if it was only meant to teach him some defensive moves. It could wait.

Connor was an eager student though. So far he hadn't complained once, nor had he asked for a break, even though his tank top clung tightly to his sweaty skin, as did his hair, and his face was red from all the effort he was putting into this.

Hickey had finally opted to using some of the actual padded kick shields and hand targets; Connor lacked technique, but his blows were hard and powerful. He had potential to become a force to be reckoned with if he kept up his training and really worked for it.

“Again!”

Baring his teeth Connor directed another shin kick into the padded shield Hickey held in front of him, grunting when he had to brace himself against the blow. His poor arms were going to be sore after this! What was taking Haytham so long?

As if on cue the door of the gym opened, but it wasn't Haytham to marched inside; in his stead was Church with an irritated scowl on his face. “Thomas! Why don't you pick up your damn phone?”

“'Sup Ben! Kinda busy 'ere.” Another kick from Connor, and another grunt from him.

“I've tried to call you three times already!” Church continued as he stopped in front of the boxing ring and wildly waved his hands. “You're required upstairs, now!”

“Why? I finished me work for today.” Connor switched positions and Hickey dumped the kick shield on the floor to pick up a hand guard, so he could practice his right and left hooks again. If he had even noticed Church, it didn't show.

“It's not about work!” Church hissed and reached up to grab the ropes, pulling himself into the ring with some awkward difficulty. “It's your lawyer. He's waiting for you.”

“What lawyer?”

A sigh. “Don't play dumb with me, Thomas! The same lawyer as always, because you can't keep your hands to yourself when there are women around!”

Hickey just smirked in reply but made no move to actually pause the training match. “I'll come when I'm done, Ben. Tell 'im to wait. Feet a lil' bit more apart, Connor. Tha's it.”

“Thomas!”

“Relax, Ben! I'll come as soon as 'Aytham returns. What's takin' 'im so long anyway?”

“I don't know, he's still talking to William. Come on, Thomas! Your lawyer gets paid by the hour! Put down that pillow thing and lets go!”

Hickey blinked. Pillow thing? Before he could say anything though, Church had already stepped forward, fed up with waiting, and reached out to Connor. “Just pause for a second, kiddo-” His hand landed on Connor's shoulder before Hickey could tell him not to... the effect was immediate.

Connor went stiff like a broom as soon as he felt the warm pressure on his shoulder, and an odd, almost squeak-like sound escaped his throat. Hickey just had enough time to see brown eyes widen before they narrowed to slits and Connor whirled around on his feet, his hand still clenched into a tight fist, and swung it towards Church's face.

-=-=-=-

Hickey could only stare, blinking as Church fell and crashed into the rope. One look and his nose had been knocked to the right, a heavy trickle of blood pouring down over his lips. His face read of befuddledness, scrunched in pain . Silence, beside a wheezing gush of breath and Hickey watched his friend wipe his nose, a yelp coming from him as he withdrew a blood coated hand.

He couldn't help it. He simply couldn't.

"Ha ha ha ha ha!" Doubled over, Hickey pointed to Church's face, slapping his knee. "He got you somethin' fierce! Connor, you 'ave any _idea_ how long I wanted to do tha' for?" Church glared with watery eyes, gingerly touching the end of his very crooked nose.

"What the hell was that for?!"

Between breathless chuckles, Hickey attempted to explain, "O-oye there, Benny. Connor dun like bein' touched much. Just a lil' accident is all." Of course it didn't prevent it from being funny as all hell.

"It isn't funny, Thomas! Kid just broke my nose! You just broke my nose!" Again he clutched it, Thomas rolling his eyes as the laughter wore down some. "Alrigh' we get it, it's not that big 'a deal."

"Are you kidding me?" His voice was muffled, pronunciation off as he spoke. "What if I wasn't a member of the company? What if I went and pressed charges?"

Hickey's glare was enough to stop him from rambling for a moment. "But yer not, so drop it. Was a mistake, stop bein' a baby."

The silent opening of the door went unnoticed, two men standing shoulder to shoulder, eye curious. 

"A mistake? You don't mistakenly break someone's nose!" Church sent a glare Connor's way, wiping blood from his face in vein. "You have to be careful, do you have any idea what your father would say if he were here to witness your lack of control?"

"... well, for starters I'd congratulate his accuracy."

Dry and authorative, Haytham stepped further into the gymnasium, William standing by his side, a small smile tugging at his features. "Then I'd like to inquire as to the details of this..." a hand gestured, waving, "... scuffle, but not before reminding a certain man that he shouldn't _speak_ for me or _assume_ I'd feel any particular way in regards to my son's actions." He didn't enter the ring, merely leaning against the ropes, eyeing both Church's injury and his son's form. Tense as can be.

"Your son just punched me in the face!" 

Haytham blinked, not attempting to fight the eye roll. "Well _clearly._ I assumed it wasn't a self inflicted wound."

It got him another glare, William stepping forward and eyeing them both. That was a nasty looking break. And Benjamin was a hypochondriac like no other...

"It's not _funny._ All I did was touch his shoulder- Thomas won't go to see his lawyer so I _had_ to get him!"

"You limey fuckin' tattle tale."

"Well it's true! I just touched him on the shoulder and was met with a punch to the face!" Another angry glare was sent Connor's way, Church snapping sharply. "If anything some sort of reprimand is in order!"

Haytham paid little mind to Benjamin, more focused on Connor, on his demeanor and posture. They didn't know what happened, they wouldn't be given the full details either. It didn't excuse the act, Connor had gone too far. However...

"Why don't I have someone set that for you, Benjamin? And I'll tell Thomas' lawyer to give him some extra time." William's voice remained friendly, even as Church glowered. 

"B-but something should be done about-"

"His father will handle it, he's more than capable of such. And, Benjamin, Connor is an adult." William's eyes flickered to his, setting an album aside with a small card attached. "Twenty two now if I'm not mistaken. You can address him as one."

With one last glare, Benjamin made his way out of the ring, William, patting Haytham's shoulder. "We'll discuss it further later. Go be with your son." Haytham simply nodded, turning to both Thomas and Connor as the other two departed.

"... I suppose I needn't say punching one in the face is generally frowned upon-"

"Ah, Benny 'ad it comin' for a few years now."

"Thomas-"

"I know, I know; ya gotta be the big boss n' dad, I'm shuttin it."

"Appreciated."

"Still shoulda told that one guy not to assault Johnny with a fuckin' ugly stick to the face, but I getcha'."

Grey eyes shut, lips twitching. "Thomas-"

"Humanity and my eyes would 'ave appreciated it for one."

Another twitch of his lips and Haytham had to avert his gaze to maintain an air of seriousness. "Alright, Thomas."

"It's not alrigh', looks like someone was givin' him reconstructive surgery, pieced 'im back together like a Picasso and then said 'fuck it'."

A small, undignified half chortle, and Haytham bit the inside of his cheek. It didn't prevent the smile. "I get it Thomas, I'll be easy. Just go deal with your lawyer."

-=-=-=-

Oh.

Um... oops?

Connor quickly took a step back and glanced down at his fist, frowning at the few small blood splatters that dotted his knuckles. Right, he... probably should not have done that, but he had reacted before he could have stopped himself. Church shouldn't have touched him like that from behind while distracted, simple as that!

Still, one glance at Church and Connor couldn't help but wince... he hadn't meant to break his nose! Hickey was nearly doubling over in laughter but to him it wasn't funny at all.

He could understand Church's anger, but... it hadn't been his fault! 

Biting his lower lip Connor slipped further to the back as the door to the gym opened a second time and Haytham strolled inside, William right behind him. He tried to block out Church's heated demands and plucked one of the clean towels that was draped over the ropes – it was unlikely their training match would continue after this. Wiping his face, neck and shoulders clean of sweat he kept his back turned to the others as he rubbed the fabric over the knuckles to clear the blood splatters away.

Strangely enough he didn't feel sorry for punching Church... but he did feel bad because Haytham would probably be angry about it. He listened in silence as William finally managed to coax a grumbling Church away, followed by a strange conversation about... were they talking about Pitcairn? What ugly stick? Had he gotten into an accident or something?

Connor grit his teeth. Bah, what did he care anyway? Flinging the towel to the floor he ignored Hickey's cheery “Good luck!” and wink before he left to take a shower, leaving him alone with his father.

“He had it coming.” he muttered as soon as Hickey was out of hearing distance. Stuffing his hands inside the pockets of his sweat pants Connor kept his back turned to Haytham and shrugged his shoulders. “He crept up behind me and I was distracted. I just happened. He should have kept his distance.”

-=-=-=-

A shame, Thomas was quite effective in his attempt to lighten his mood. Just as Connor seemed persistent in his fight to further agitate him. Regardless, he wouldn't have words from across the room.

"Lad." His frown only increased as he approached Connor, Haytham himself letting out a long, winded sigh. "While it wasn't your intention to injure, the fact remains you did, in fact, have a rather volatile reaction to what is considered a common, normal touch." He held up his hand to prevent interruption, lips already pressed into a line.

"Am I blaming you entirely? No, I realize what's happened was severely traumatic, but lad, there is a certain amount of responsibility you need to take when interacting with the general public. People will _touch_ you from time to time, whether in a friendly courteous gesture or as a means of acting aggressive." Though Haytham steadily hoped a being with aggression issues would stay far away from his son. Even now he was wound up tight, a perpetual coil.

"Careful, you need be more aware of your surroundings." It went without saying, Connor was an adult. What he just did was assault, plain and simple, and while Benjamin had a tendency to overreact, the fact remained it could very well get Connor thrown into jail. Or worse, potentially.

Though by the look Connor was giving him, it seemed he put little blame on his own reaction. Haytham stared warily. This could lead to extreme difficulties...

"I need your assurance that I can rely on you to keep your temper." Particularly with the gift he'd been willing to impart tonight, and his idea in mind. He couldn't have Connor in an overly aggressive state if this was to be done properly. Logic and empirical reasoning, that's what Connor needed to utilize to conquer his fear.

-=-=-=-

"Lad."

Oh, there we go.

Connor turned slightly, just enough so he could glance at his father over his shoulder. Haytham didn't look overly pissed, but his expression was one of annoyance nonetheless. Goddammit, it wasn't his fault! Church should have kept his goddamn space!

“I'm trying.” he ground out as he leaned back against the ropes and tightly crossed his arms over his shoulders. He was shaking... when had he started shaking? “I'm really trying.” Taking a deep breath he unfolded his arms again and tightly gripped the ropes behind him; his eyes blinked furiously as he stared at a spot on the wall. “He caught me off guard. I was distracted, I didn't notice him, I...” a small, almost helpless shrug, and Connor swallowed thickly. “It happened before I could stop it. He shouldn't have... Church should have kept his distance. His issue was with Hickey, not with me!” It wasn't his fault! It was _not_ his fault!

Connor turned then and fixed his father with a stare, his fists trembling at his side. “I _can_ keep my temper in check as long as people don't do... _this!”_

-=-=-=-

He blinked, owlishly. He'd expected defensiveness on the verge of aggression, but not of this variety. Borderline helplessness, and Connor's inability to stifle emotions left his eyes misting and fists quivering by his sides.

There was irritation left, but it deflated greatly. "There's always going to be a person who may touch you without express permission, you know that as well as I." His voice remained neutral, but his eyes softened around the edges. He took a good look around. No one present.

Far from inappropriate, it was simply an affectionate gesture, Haytham using his sleeve as a napkin, dotting Connor's eyes. "It's alright, lad. This was bound to happen, let's... perhaps seek the positive. At least it happened here, to an employee who won't press charges." This was painful to watch, his once emotionally available and physically open son...

He was a former shell of himself. Nails left their mark in a single clenched hand. His decision certainly had merit, more so than he perhaps expected. As were his other intentions, to be revealed later in the evening.

Haytham retracted his sleeve, slowly, but only to turn Connor's chin upward. "You're a Kenway. Chin up at all times, lad." And a stiff upper lip, but it was far too late for that. No matter. "A small speed bump in the start of your recovery. We'll chalk it up to that. Just promise me you'll be more cautious."

-=-=-=-

Connor nodded stiffly. He could do better than this, he hadn't _wanted_ to break Church's nose. But it had happened anyway, and it was something he really had to work on. Haytham was right, he couldn't avoid any of this forever. This time he hadn't gotten lucky, but next time... next time he might not be.

He could get them both into serious trouble if he didn't learn how to curb his anger.

But at least Haytham wasn't angry at him. Connor excused himself and quickly left for the gym's bathroom to take a quick five-minute shower. His sweaty clothes he stuffed into a plastic bag, glad he had remembered to bring some spares. He had to wash these first.

After that was done, and after a lot of coaxing from Haytham, Connor hesitantly made his way up to the offices with Haytham in tow behind him. Hickey wasn't present, already in a conversation with his lawyer in a closed office further ahead, and neither was Pitcairn, but William was just finishing applying a bandage to Church once-again-straight nose.

Connor still felt he wasn't the only one to blame, but he apologized nonetheless, softly with his eyes on the floor... and only because Haytham had asked him to. Church just grumbled, still angry but he nodded anyway, a silent sign that his apology had been accepted. William promised to pass his thanks to Hickey once he came back, for his help in the gym. Perhaps they could do that again... Hickey was a good teacher.

So far, his birthday today had quite sucked, Connor mused as he and Haytham made their way to the garage to go home. Then again, he hadn't been looking forward to it anyway. It had lost his charm, because his birthday would be forever clouded with the knowledge that Ziio had died on this day one year ago, because of Lee.

Connor was happy to pretend it was just a day as any other; no presents, no cake, no friends coming over. Nothing, because none of those would bring back what had been lost. Perhaps in a few years he'd feel up to celebrate it again, but as far as he was concerned now... today was just another day, and nothing more. 

-=-=-=-

He'd given Connor room, allowed him time to cool off in the shower. Haytham instead fingered the pages of the album William left behind, before opening it to a random page, curious.

...Oh. Pictures, of him and Ziio, but different ones. Ones he never knew existed. A few page turns and Haytham found himself blinking, shaking his head. Some of the camping trip- he instinctively rotated his arm, scar on his bicep suddenly itchy- some of them by the campus, in a restaurant...

He missed her. He could admit it now without growing remorseful, his lips twitching upward at a particular memory of her and Thomas mocking John. She was so very clever with her retorts.

Closing the book softly, he tucked it by his side before making his way toward the showers. There'd be no going backwards; they'd persevere.

~*~

He left Connor alone, watching him head toward their bedroom with a small sigh. He wasn't himself, not that Haytham was sure what Connor truly consisted of anymore. His personality had gone through quite the metamorphosis already. Outdoorsy, he was typically out with Myriam or Shaun to a lesser extent, though as of late he was an introvert in most senses. He thought to intervene, but forcing him to socialize seemed hypocritical, given his own methods of coping.

Instead he took to the kitchen, setting the album on the table and awaiting a certain package to arrive. He wasn't disappointed by the knock, accepting said package and setting it on the table.

He never understood this, but he'd give it a try, although it was a blasted fire hazard.

He lit the candles anyway, grateful William had provided him with unscented ones- this couldn't be anymore bizarre to him, the scent of flowers would have nauseated him. Honestly, Connor probably would have wanted a pizza...

No, no. He'd mentioned him cooking and the touch would be... appreciated. If not scoffed at.

A long, low sigh, and Haytham took the chicken out of the oven to rest, setting it aside and stirring the last of the quinoa before tentatively grabbing his hair tie . Running a hand through his hair, it fell into its natural part, Haytham clearing his throat a final time and observing the view.

He moved the table to the window, Connor's and his own favorite spot to gaze. Candles placed by the ledge gave the room a glow, and Haytham dimmed the lights, watching them flicker. His present lay beside the table, and his proposal remained a solid construction in his mind. It seemed horribly... romantic.

... he was never doing this again.

Still, it would- hopefully- belie his point in all it's inevitability. Three knocks, and Haytham opened the door, lips twitching. "Lad, dinner." He hesitated, eyes averted. "... and there's something I felt you should have."

-=-=-=-

The knocks jerked Connor out of the slight slumber he had dozed off into; sitting up he blinked sheepishly at his father standing in the doorway. What? Dinner?

As if in cue, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since before starting the training match with Hickey. He was _starving!_

... he wasn't interested in pizza though. He really had been eating way too much pizza lately, to the point where it just wasn't as tasty anymore as it used to be. Ah well...

Swinging his legs off the bed Connor stood up and stretched his arms, feeling his spine pop with a wince and rubbed his eyes with the ball of his hand as he followed Haytham back into the living room.

In the doorway, Connor stopped abruptly. Er... was he still dreaming?

He took in the dimmed lights with a confused frown on his features and his brown eyes moved from the lit candles to the steaming chicken - oh god that smelled good! - and finally to the wrapped box that lay beside the table. Erhm...

Well now... Haytham had remembered his birthday. Of course, kinda hard not to, considering mom... Connor swallowed thickly and pushed it to the back of his mind again. Fact was, Haytham had remembered his birthday and had clearly made an effort for it. All it was missing was a cake, and Connor could easily do without.

"You didn't have to do this, you know?" he muttered as he took a step forward. That didn't mean he didn't appreciate the gesture, and now that Haytham had actually made such an effort to end this day on a fun note, Connor might as well enjoy it.

Words of thanks were not needed as Connor walked towards the table and reached out as he passed his father, gliding his fingers over his hand and squeezing gently, eyes flicking up to meet his face as the corner's of his mouth twitched - he really _did_ appreciate this. Connor knew he wasn't making things easy for his father (again, _not_ his fault) and Haytham put up with it anyway. For someone who had little experience being a dad, he was doing a mighty fine job so far.

Sitting down in a chair Connor crossed his legs underneath him and let his eyes roam over the food Haytham had prepared (and eying the quinoa warily). "Smells good... I'm glad you're cooking again."

-=-=-=-

Of course he knew he didn't have to do this. He didn't _have_ to do anything.

Though the effort was clearly appreciated, the subtle touches enough to signal such. Haytham responded with a simple nod. It was a trying situation for them both. They'd make do none the less, at least on his watch.

"Lad." He said nothing as Connor blatantly ignored the quinoa, going straight for the chicken and asparagus, resisting the urge to comment but unable to keep from rolling his eyes. "It's a grain, Connor, similar to brown rice. It's more afraid of you than you are of it."

Ah, but he digressed, waving his hand and shaking his head before eyeing the package by their seat. He waited for Connor to wolf down what was his first plate of food, clearing his throat when his pace slowed during the second. This would make for... quite a tale. Though, Connor deserved to know. It was a common bonding chip if nothing else. And the opening statement for his argument.

"We've spent quite some time together as of late." His food went untouched, his appetite quickly suppressed under what was notable anxiety. Simply, these facts were difficult to share.

Opening his mouth, it clicked shut before he thought again. Phrases, sentences... everything of the like. But nothing was adequate, and Haytham eventually gave up, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Bianca, setting the daringer on the table. "... I suppose I should explain how this originally came to my possession, and how it came to be utilized." Fingering his cup, Haytham began, voice soft and eyes elsewhere. 

"You undoubtedly remember Birch, lad?" It corresponded. Haytham knew it served its purpose, had its place. Yet talking about it seemed entirely too personal, too difficult to say.

"This has everything to do with him." And with his own gift to Connor, should he accept it.

-=-=-=-

The food tasted as good as he had expected, though Connor completely ignored the bowl of quinoa. It looked like bird food.

He hadn't eaten this much in quite some time, though it wasn't an excessive amount; still he felt fuller than he had in a long time. Dropping his fork Connor shoved his plate away and leaned back in his chair, sated and satisfied, until Haytham cleared his throat.

Cracking one eye open Connor peered at him, noting the serious expression on his father's face. Oh no... now what? He didn't want to deal with even more bad news. Sitting up straight he watched his father closely, waiting for him to open his mouth; he looked like he was afraid of doing so, of saying what he wanted to say. What was this about?

... and what did this have to do with that daringer?

"Er..." Oh shit. Oh _fuck._ What bloody horrible timing! Now he knew what Haytham was trying to tell him, because he had already been told the story hours before! And he had two options now: stay silent and pretend that this was the first time hearing this story... or be honest about it.

And there really was only one choice he could make. "I remember Birch... but dad, before you begin..." Lacing his fingers together Connor rested his hands on the table and cast his eyes down, staring at the wood grain. He didn't want to see the look of disappointment, or confusion, or worse, anger on his father's face. 

"I... please don't get mad, but..." A deep breath and Connor steeled himself. "I... already know. Hickey, he brought it up in the gym today and... I didn't try to stop him from telling me about that gun's origins and... what happened to it. I was curious, and because... because you never talk about your childhood and the like... Hickey told me what happened with and to Birch... I'm sorry, dad. I know it was wrong..."

-=-=-=-

Little caused him genuine shock in his life, yet the unexpected chill forced his skin to prickle.

He already _knew?_

Oh Hickey that miserable, big mouthed... of course he told Connor. Of course he did. And gods knew what else he had told his son. Again words failed him, Haytham's teeth gritting.

But he couldn't help his own curiosity, even if it was muddled with agitation. His voice hinted as much. "I suppose that's that then." Connor knew, about everything. Haytham let it sink in before forcing himself to calm, at least enough so he could speak.

"Since you already know, I suppose this will need little explanation." Lifting the package carefully, Haytham cleared a spot by him with his empty hand, setting the package down. He met Connor's eyes just barely. 

"After everything that was done, I couldn't allow him to live." As if he needed justification... the tip of his index finger pressed to his lips, teeth biting into it softly. The point, Haytham. Remember the topic at hand.

"I'm glad I took his life. Even if that wasn't my intention, I'm glad he bled out." Almost whispered, Haytham's eyes never left Connor's, even as his throat grew dry. "He deserved it, and while it will bring nothing I've lost back there was... a satisfaction brought to me. I found myself able to cope, to move in a positive direction after his death."

His spare hand tapped the box, Haytham nodding once. Birch had taken far too much- his father, his life, his sister by extension, his own desire for certain intimacy- he wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction of sadness. No. He was over this now. And he'd help Connor do the same.

"I will see to it that you do the same."

-=-=-=-

Connor bit his lower lip. He could hear the agitation in his father's voice, but again he didn't sound angry. But of course he could just be masking it. He stood up and slowly walked around the table to sit down next to his father, and eyed the large package in front of him. He couldn't deny he wasn't curious.

This had _something_ to do with that story, and with the daringer... Haytham had shot to kill to save his own life from Birch, to close a dark chapter in his life. And now he was giving him the means to do the same?

His fingers were almost trembling as he reached out to tear the wrapping away, crumpling it up into a ball and throwing it on the floor. One look at the box had him gasp in surprise, eying the large letters on the cover: HOYT.

This couldn't be...

Connor all but yanked the lid away and threw it over his shoulder, uncaring where it fell, and ripped away the protective velvet covering inside, only to set his eyes on the most beautiful bow he had ever seen in his life. His trusty compound bow was also a Hoyt, but this was a Hoyt GameMaster II Recurve! He had shot with recurve bows before, and while a compound bow was easier to use, and lighter too... they were a bitch to clean and maintain and keep them oiled. A recurve required more strength, but it also felt more traditional and shooting with it was twice as fast as with a compound.

Trembling fingers carefully lifted the bow out of the box, as gently as one would handle a newborn baby. It included a quiver and ten arrows; sleek, long, thin and sharp. Standing up gripped the bow by the handle and pulled back the string, feeling the tension, the raw power it held.

Wow. Just... _wow!_ Imagine shooting Cutter with this baby...

It confused him a little; when Hickey had given him the daringer, Haytham had said he didn't fully trust him with a weapon during his healing process... so why give him a bow? Then again... a small gun like that could easily be hidden and carried around in one's pocket, but he couldn't exactly go and take this bow out onto the street. It made sense, in a way.

"Thanks, dad. Really, I..." Jesus... he couldn't even put this in words. Taking a deep breath he put the bow down in the box again and sat down, before wrapping his arms around his father in what was a tight hug. His face in Haytham's shirt, his words came out muffled, but they were genuine nonetheless. "Thank you..."

He could get this done. He didn't know when, but one day, one day he'd get even. Cutter, Silas and Lee. They were dead men. 

They just didn't know it yet.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CONCERNING FUTURE UPDATES!**
> 
> No we're not quitting... but we are taking a small break, this because of some real life events that I can't ignore. Some may have already read my post on Tumblr about what happened yesterday, but in short, we had a house fire Sunday morning. No one got hurt but we had to evacuate and everything and... well, lets just say it scared me pretty badly. I've been extremely jumpy since it happened and have been taking calming and sleeping meds. The full story about what happened is here on my tumblr: http://simplyconnorific.tumblr.com/post/43881985318/gifts-and-fire
> 
> As a very plot-heavy story, Vindication requires a lot of energy and concentration to make sure everything we write fits and makes sense. Simply put, I don't feel up for that now, so we're taking a small break. One week, maybe two. I still have chapter 14 to edit so that will go up on Friday or Saturday, but after that uploads will slow down because we caught up. I'm aiming for one chapter a week, they take about that long to write. We're in different timezones so we only have a few hours each day to write.
> 
> In the mean time we spend our time writing something HaythConish that's a lot less plot heavy and a lot more porny, for fun and because it distracts (DLC based, captive Connor, Mad King Kenway instead of Mad King Washington, we might upload it).
> 
> For now, please enjoy this chapter.
> 
> -Necro.

He was passed niceties. They were supposed to be there in twenty minutes!

Haytham's foot tapped impatiently, lips pursing as he looked at his watch, ticking steadily and progressing into minutes. Damn it Connor, this was not the time to prep like some... some pre teen prom date! He had other, much more interesting things to accomplish.

Namely, the whereabouts of Cutter and Silas, though Connor was undoubtedly just as interested in that. What he wasn't responding to were the calls the dean made. In an attempt to salvage Connor's adequate academic achievement, he'd simply been dropped from each class rather than given a failing grade. But now, with April nearing a close and finals underway came registration for a new term. Meaning classes, social situations, interactions and friendships.

As clear as day, Connor was simply not ready for that. Online classes were another option, but Connor's mind was too preoccupied with training. A lot of training.

Hickey and he in fact had trained for hours just the previous day, as Haytham finished up business with William. With his own prospects and activities to focus on, Haytham gladly let them spar and train for as long as they wanted, allowing him to investigate more into Silas and Cutter's location. Not much longer and should be able to name a country...

But that was getting ahead of himself. Haytham knocked again, eye rolling. Yes, his son had anxiety issues but...  
"... the longer you delay, the longer it will take us to get back, lad." Haytham's already short fuse, lack of sleep and semi-constant means to comfort Connor were finally starting to take their toll on him. His voice held agitation and his posture bore a frustrated slump. Honestly, he was attempting to be a comfort but Connor tried his damn patience.

-=-=-=-

He didn't want to go.

He honestly didn't.

Seriously, who fucking cared about school right now when there were so many other, more important things to worry about? Cutter. Silas. Lee. Training. It occupied every minute of every day. Like he could give a fuck about his classes right now.

But the dean was demanding. He was still a student, scheduled to return to the normalcy of student life at some point, and now the school board wanted to know how he was faring, and when he could come back.

Had it been up to him, Connor would have continued to ignore the dean's calls to come to his office for a chat. Unfortunately, Haytham still seemed to put some value in his education. He could say no to his dean, but he couldn't say no to his father.

Another irritated knock on the door and Connor pursed his lips, glaring at the door. This was such a waste of time! They should be at the Company, tracking down Silas and Cutter, and continue training with Hickey! Not sit around in an office for something he was no longer interested in. He was twenty-two years old; he could _stop_ school all together if he bloody wanted to!

Another knock, harder this time. Grumbling to himself Connor stood up and yanked open the door, stepping out. "This is a waste of time." he muttered angrily. "Time I should use to train, and time you should use to find Silas and Cutter." Stuffing his hands in his pockets he pulled his shoulders up, glaring at a spot on the wall from underneath the rim of his hoodie. "I don't care what the dean says..."

-=-=-=-

"And I don't care that you don't care about what the dean says." 

His arm stayed crossed over his chest, a single eyebrow raised. "We're going, we're getting this done with, and we're moving on with our lives." The finality in his voice spoke volumes. He'd tried being lenient; if up to him Connor would make some attempt at furthering his education, perhaps via a few online classes or at least part time. Unfortunately however, Conor was old enough to make this decision, and if the heated glare told him anything it was simply that he would not go back to college anytime soon.

And as it was, Haytham wasn't about to force him into it. Grabbing his jacket, he walked ahead, briskly, if only to be alone for a moment. Every day, Connor was still as difficult as the day prior. Granted, not everything ended in an argument but far too many ended in with him grinding his teeth or pinching the bridge of his nose, attempting with his damndest not to retort. Even now, he desperately craved a moment peace, but Connor was almost glued to his side with everything he did.

While understandable, it didn't make it less irritating. He understood Connor's desire to be close, but after months of it, it was starting to grate on his nerves.

Deactivating the alarm to his Rolls Royce from a distance, he let out one long, drawn-out sigh. This wasn't him. Patience, excess civility, almost unquestionable understanding, the ability to tolerate a presence for long, repeated hours, day after day. It was growing- he wouldn't say overwhelming- but something akin to it. His level of frustration was becoming almost intolerable; even now, seated comfortably in his car the muscles in his jaw flickered in agitation.

He needed space, time to be himself- perhaps, after this small meeting, Connor would want to spend time with Myriam... they hadn't seen each other in sometime.

"Lad, have you spoke to Myriam recently?" His eyes remained on the road ahead, face masked. "An unexpected visit would do her some good."

-=-=-=-

Fine!

Sputtering and mumbling to himself Connor followed him out of the apartment, down the elevator and into the garage, where the Rolls Royce stood waiting for them. He slumped into the passengers seat and buckled himself in with quick, stiff movements.

He could tell his father was angry about _something_ from a mile away but he didn't have to act all pissy and take it out on him! But noooo of course Haytham was the parent, of course he knew better. Connor snorted and stuck the pull string of his hoodie in his mouth, chewing on it angrily. This sucked.

Berkley was only a few blocks away, but it didn't take long for Haytham to start talking. "Lad, have you spoke to Myriam recently?"

"... not really." Haytham had bought him a new phone, but so far Connor hadn't used it much and he wasn't carrying it on him now either, whereas before he wouldn't have left the house without it. Honestly, he was neglecting his friends. He had only spoken to Shaun twice since Brazil, and only a handful of times to Myriam over the phone, and once over Skype. He wasn't sure what it was that made him want to avoid contact with them. If asked, he probably wouldn't even know how to explain.

Perhaps it was simply because too much had happened, and it got in the way of continuing their friendship like nothing was wrong. He knew that they supported him either way, and were there for him should he need them, but... it simply wasn't that easy.

And going to Myriam's place was definitely something he didn't want to do.

Realizing that this was doing little to ease his father's mood Connor shifted slightly as he watched the traffic light. "Maybe I'll see her there, I dunno..." It was a school day after all.

-=-=-=-

"Mm." Doubtful. Berkley wasn't the largest college but it was far from small.

Why Connor was avoiding his supposed friends while adamantly clinging to his own side was simply beyond him. Granted, his pride and ego both swelled at his abilities to comfort his son, but it simultaneously caused him massive migraines. He waited for the light to turn, unwilling to keep up conversation any longer. It would simply cause him more aggravation.

Parking took a while, as to be expected. No parking lot spaces meant parking substantial distances away or paying higher prices. Haytham accepted the latter, if only to get this situation dealt with. Honestly, Connor should have attended himself, being of proper age to do so.

Ignoring what was a gnawing irritation bubbling inside him, he allowed Connor to take the lead, only having gone to his college once, and that was over a year prior. The halls were empty at the moment, save for a scattered person here of there using the facilities.

It wasn't long before they reached their destination, the student volunteer quickly knocking on the Dean's office door when Haytham approached with the desire to speak to him. He emerged shortly after, a dress shirt and pants with a checkered tie. Ugh, liberal arts majors and their fashion sense...

"Welcome Mr. Kenway." Haytham's own calloused hand shook a less firm one, observing Connor out of the corner of his eye. Before the dean could bother to gesture Haytham clapped him on the shoulder, gesturing to the office. "Shall we then?" The last thing he needed was an irrational punch thrown over what his lad viewed to be an uncomfortable form of contact. Church was still complaining about the punch Connor had given him a few weeks ago.

"So, Mr. Kenway and, well, Mr. Kenway." The dean's chuckle did nothing to bring humor to the situation, and he quickly coughed, turning serious. "Connor, how have you been fairing these past few weeks? Ready to return for the upcoming semester?"

-=-=-=-

Connor kept his head down, eyes on the tiled floor as they walked through the hallways. They were lucky everyone was in the middle of class; the hallways weren't packed as they normally were.  
A timid first year showed herself willing to lead them to the dean's office. Not that Connor couldn't have taken the lead there, but seeing as he was reluctant to go...

He'd only had dealings with the dean once, in his first year when he had gotten into a fight with a fellow student. He had been suspended for three weeks, both of them had. No, he wasn't particularly fond of their dean.

They knocked and the door opened seconds later. The dean, Mr. Simmons, shook Haytham's hand and his father quickly ushered him inside before the man could do offer him his hand as well.

After offering tea or coffee, which they both declined, Mr. Simmons sat down in his chair behind his desk and gestured towards the two empty chairs opposite of him. Connor sat down as well, already uncomfortable and stiff, and leaned to the side, as close to his father as he could.

He grit his teeth at the question and he removed the pull string from his mouth to answer with a shrug. How was he doing? Better than before, but still nowhere where he should be. There was improvement, but it was a slow going process, they both knew that. Especially because Connor still refused to see Mrs. Stillman, claiming that the training sessions he had with Hickey helped a lot more than ranting to some woman on a weekly basis did.

But, Mr. Simmons had asked him a question, and he would have to answer this. And he was going to be brutally honest about it. "I don't care for the next semester. I am done. I have more important things to do." His fingers twitched, as if they were already eager to get the job done.

Mr. Simmons shifted in his chair and cleared his throat, looking a little uncomfortable with how Connor was staring at him with brown eyes darkened in the shadow of his hoodie. "This is about your future, Connor. Your education, don't you think that is important too?"

"No." There. A simple answer, straight and to the point. "Not anymore." The pull string found its way between his lips and teeth again, feeling his own agitation grow as Mr. Simmons looked at him.

"I'd say it is important, Connor. Without it, you'll be hard pressed finding a good job in a few years."

"Doesn't matter. I'll be busy with other things."

Frowning the dean laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the desk. "Like what? What kind of things?"

His answer was an upward curl of the corners of his lips before they pulled back into a smirk, though Connor's eyes remained carefully guarded, turning the smirk, with white teeth still grinding down on the material of the string, into one that made Mr. Simmons uncomfortable just looking at it. He slowly leaned back into his chair, the leather creaking with the movement, and took a deep breath. Connor had always been eager and passionate about his History studies... to see him show so little interest... no interest at all anymore. It was like talking to a different person now. "What about your history classes?"

A shrug, and the smirk disappeared again. "Don't care anymore. As I've said, there are more important things."

-=-=-=-

Oh come on, _Connor._

Haytham couldn't stop his glare if he tried. That idiotic, grimace of a smirk that bared his teeth like some sort of snarling animal. Had he any less tact, he'd backhand him in the office, right on the spot.

He'd do so later. Act like an arrogant child and he'd be treated like one.

His answers were positively atrocious, to the extent that Haytham butt in, eyes narrowing and face alight with a scowl. "Connor, be a lad and wait outside while I talk to your dean." A hiss through grit teeth was the best Haytham could offer. His blood boiled at Connor's stare, nails digging into his own hands if only to prevent himself from snapping. The tension was palpable, thick enough to tangibly feel. Mr. Simmons remained silent, watching.

"Connor, go. Now."

-=-=-=-

Connor's head snapped up, wide open eyes staring at his father? Go? Oh, but Haytham was angry now. Not just agitated, but angry. He held Haytham's eyes for a few more seconds and then abruptly shoved his chair back, stood up and walked out, closing the door behind him a little harder than was necessary. Fine, he'd go. Let them _talk!_

Grumbling to himself Connor leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. There was no way that either of them could convince him to continue his classes next semester, or any future semester. It simply wasn't going to happen. Saying that he was no longer interested in history was a lie - he was - he just had far more important things to focus on and history had no part in any of it. If he had to lie to the dean a little to get his point across, then so be it.

... What would dad tell Mr. Simmons? He was almost tempted to press his ear against the door, but... no... Haytham wouldn't appreciate it if he found out he had tried to eavesdrop on them, even though Connor felt he had every right to know what they were saying about him. These last few days his father's mood had been simmering so close to boiling level... he wasn't quite sure what was causing it; perhaps it was just all the stress of trying to find Silas and Cutter that was getting to his father, but he did not appreciate him taking his snappish behavior out on him. He hadn't done anything wrong.

Ah, it would pass. Hopefully soon. This was a difficult time for all of them.

The sound of the bell jerked him out of his thoughts and Connor stiffened, eyes going wide. Oh no. No no no! Not now! Doors opened left and right, dozens of students pouring out of the classrooms and into the hallway, loudly chatting and laughing and Connor desperately tried to melt with the wall behind him, keeping his head down. They had no reason to bother him, no reason to even talk to him or even notice that he was there, but within seconds the hallway was packed with bodies, students on their way to the cafeteria downstairs for lunch. They walked past him close enough he could feel them brush against him, and Connor found himself hard pressed keeping himself calm.

Too close, they were too close!

"Connor?"

His head snapped up at the familiar voice; someone walked towards him; bright red hair and pretty brown eyes. "Bianca...?"

"Connor, what are you doing here? Oh it's so good to see you!"

"Y-yeah..." he answered lamely, still horribly on edge as his eyes drifted from Bianca to the guy standing behind her. Tall, with pale eyes and wild, dark blond hair with a matching goatee, he stared him down with an unimpressed look.

"Oh, um... this is Daniel." Bianca explained when she saw Connor's questioning gaze. "He's my..."

"Boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"Oh... um, congrats I guess." Connor stuffed his hands in his pockets, still keeping himself plastered against the wall. He didn't like how this Daniel was looking at him, keeping that unimpressed look as he fished a packet of marlboro out of his pocket. Connor recognized that look in his eyes. Lee had always looked at him that way as well.

"So what are you doing here, Connor?" Bianca asked and he blinked, puling his eyes away from Daniel to look at her. He shrugged and nodded at the door of Mr. Simmons' office.

"Dad is talking to the dean..."

"Oh are you coming back next semester then?"

"No."

"... well, why not?"

"I'm just... not."

"Then why is your pops here talking to the dean if you're not coming back?" That was Daniel and Connor flicked his eyes back up to him with a frown. Why did he care?

"Does it matter?" he muttered, wishing that he would just piss off already and go smoke his disgusting cigarettes somewhere else. The hall was no longer so packed with students, but there were still too many as far as Connor was concerned. _Hurry up in there, dad!_ He wanted to leave!

"Then..." Bianca shifted her books and blinked up at him. "the semester after that?"

"No... I'm not coming back."

"Oh... that's a real sha-"

"You're that guy from television." Daniel suddenly cut in. "About that thing in Brazil. I've seen you on the news."

Not answering that, Connor grit his teeth and glanced away. So what?!

"You think you're special or somethin'?" Daniel continued as he stuck an unlit cigarette between his lips. "Just because you had some shit happen to you, you suddenly get special treatment?"

"Daniel... stop it." Bianca muttered but he ignored her and took a step forward, one that Connor matched by stepping back. What was his problem?

"I don't know what you're talking about." he said softly, already feeling the familiar pangs of panic bubbling in his gut. He didn't like this guy, the way he talked to him, the way he looked at him as if he was dirt. 

Bianca quickly scurried between them as Daniel took another step forward, and pressed her hands against their chests to push them away. "That's enough, Daniel. Leave him alone-" Before Connor could even blink Daniel brushed passed her and reached out, shoving hard against his shoulders. "Hands off my girlfriend, you asshole!"

Connor stumbled backwards and grabbed onto a row of lockers. "I didn't touch her!" he yelled back and straightened himself, stiffening when he became all too aware that the students that were still in the hall had all stopped and turned to watch. He felt each and every single pair of eyes, curiously drilling into him. Everywhere he looked, all around, people were staring at him and Daniel, who was hissing something at him he could quite hear over the growing white noise in his ears. Why were they all staring? There was nothing to see here! 

Hands buried in his hair as Connor stared down at the tiled floor with wide open eyes, trying to keep his breathing under control. All the whispers of curious students, and Daniel's words blurred together until he couldn't make sense of it anymore. _Calm down. Calm down._ He had to remain calm, he couldn't do what he had done to Church, he couldn't loose control here and lash out. He could prove to his father that he could keep himself in check! Daniel knew nothing, he was just trying to pick a fight. Just ignore him. 

It was impossible. Yelling, booing, cheering, laughing, all around him... it was the Pits all over again, demanding he fight for his own survival for the amusement of others!

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Daniel briskly stepped forward with an angry scowl on his face and reached out; Connor caught the movement in his peripheral vision and tensed. There was no stopping it now. He whirled around on his heel and knocked the hand that had been reaching for his shoulder to the side. Daniel just had enough time to blink before Connor's fists wound themselves into his collar and jerked him off his feet before he was slammed into the row of lockers hard enough the metal dented.

Someone screamed, and Connor felt hands tug at his sleeve, Bianca begging him to let him go. More students gathered, forming a tight ring around them as they cheered and hooted, but he couldn't hear them. They were drowned out by one familiar voice in his head, Kadar's voice, reminding him that survival was everything, pride wasn't worth a fuck and all that mattered was _winning!_

"The fuck is your problem?!" Daniel screamed and tugged on Conner's hands before he was jerked forward and then slammed back into the lockets a second time. He kicked out and Connor took the hit to his shin but it did little to force him away; his lips were pulled back into a furious snarl but his eyes were wide open, not in anger but in a mixture of fear and determination. More hands tugged at his hoodie and he faintly heard Myriam's familiar voice telling him to let go; instead he removed one hand from Daniel's collar and pulled it back, before slamming his fist forward into his face and immediately followed it up with a knee to his stomach.

He couldn't lose. He wouldn't lose! He wouldn't end like the others!

-=-=-=-

Had Connor been just a few years younger, Haytham would've bent him over the knee, no matter how outdated the method of discipline.

Instead he breathed, deeply, clearing his throat and fixing his mask once more, voice crisp and cool. "I apologize, Mr. Simmons. My son has inherited my lack of patience, but not my ability to stifle such rude impulses associated with such."

"Oh no it's fine." Indeed it was anything but fine, but Haytham wished to leave as quickly as possible, perhaps as much as Connor had. Simple, he had tact, yet another attribute he desperately needed to instill in the lad.

"I'm sure you noticed my son's rather short bit of patience, defensive behavior and less than friendly demeanor. It's not only you who's dealt with this side of him, I assure you." Indeed, if only it had been. As of late- and it may be his lack of patience contributing- but Connor had a tendency of irritating him to a point just short of rage. His insistence to stay near him only worsened the situation, leaving Haytham with limited outlets, if any.

"Returning him to class at this point is an impossibility." One hand covered the other, Haytham's voice silken but empty. "His long but unfortunate stay in Brazil was quite difficult to bear."

If Simmons noticed the twitch of his one eye he said nothing. Long stay, far too long. Had he perhaps gotten even less sleep, he'd have found him sooner-

"Is he a danger to himself or others?" 

Forcing himself from darker thoughts, Haytham straightened, eyebrow raised. 

"Is he attending any sort of recuperative activity?"

"Therapy, as it were. It's... a start in the right direction, although I'm afraid the lad simply needs more time." His distrust for others ran too far, as did his ability to anger. He was emotionally volatile at the best of times, though he wouldn't share that with Simmons. No, that would remain between them.

It was far from the end of their conversation, but a loud commotion could be heard, Mr. Simmons raising an eyebrow and Haytham himself curious.

A crowd of students, their cheers and hollering echoing down the hall. Campus security was bound to be alerted from the sheer multitude of students surrounded about. It didn't concern him in the slightest, these students were not his problem, but Connor would undoubtedly act negatively. Better take the lad home, they could resume this later.

Except his son wasn't around, and Connor wasn't the type (currently at the very least) to wander. Stepping in the hallway he tip toed to fully see one boy thrown to the ground, blood on his face, attempting to struggle against one of about equal height, a dark, very long mohawk and skin-

No. Before he became fully aware, he was forcing himself through the crowd, all to aware of beckoning foot steps and trots of a few officers.

He'd only been away for a few minutes! Damn it, damn the boy and his temper!

Connor's brief training was already paying off if his form was anything to go by, his body hunched and tense but his fists gliding to connect with the other student's jaw repeatedly, each one taking a shot of his face.

It wasn't a fight, it was a _decimation._

"Connor!" He hadn't expected that to work, and instead quickly slipped his arms around under Connor's armpits, pulling his body towards him in an arm lock before he yanked hard, hard enough to at least partially pull him from the other boy. "Connor, stop!" He struggled onward, and Haytham had to lean forward, almost hissing.

"Grab a hold of yourself! You're in a school for god sakes, not a death match!"

-=-=-=-

"Connor! Stop it!"

Covering her mouth with her hands, Myriam could do little but watch in horror as Connor threw Daniel on the floor and jumped on top of him with his fist swung back.

Bianca was crying in the arms of a friend, unable to watch, and Myriam felt her own eyes burn as Shaun placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, watching with his lips pressed into a thin line. There was nothing they could do. This wasn't what she had expected to see when he heard the commotion and came to see what was going on.

Connor... her best friend... why was he doing this? They hadn't talked much lately, she had given him space, knowing that he needed time to recover from what had been a traumatic experience. But Brazil had been nearly two months ago, and this... this wasn't the Connor she knew, the Connor she had grown up with, who enjoyed the simple things, who didn't need incentive to smile, who was a joy to hang around with, joking and laughing.

Not this... not this Connor, who more resembled a frightened, cornered wolf fighting for survival.

More commotion made her look up as Haytham barged his way through the wall of students to grab Connor, struggling to pull him away from Daniel.  
He fought against it, still trying to get at Bianca's boyfriend as Haytham pulled at him.

"Grab a hold of yourself! You're in a school for god sakes, not a death match!"

Connor made a low gasp in his throat and suddenly seized his struggles, causing both him and his father to fall backwards on the floor with a grunt. Dad was here... not a death match, not the Pits... because dad was here. Gulping in air Connor slowly rolled onto his side, his whole body shaking as adrenaline rushed through his veins. Slowly everything came back to him again... the dean... school, they were in his school, and... he had been told to wait outside and... Squeezing his eyes shut he pressed his hands against his forehead, groaning as the beginnings of a massive headache started in his skull.

Bianca tore herself away from her friend and rushed to Daniel's side, who slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows. His left eye was black and swollen shut, his nose broken and his lower lip split. Bruises on either side of his cheeks darkened the skin and blood covered his face as he glared at Connor. "What the _FUCK_ is your problem?!" he yelled as he pointed a trembling finger in his direction. "You belong in the fucking nut house!"

Mr. Simmons quickly stopped next to him and helped him on his feet. "Right, the school nurse I think. Chop chop." She'd have to decide whether he needed actual help at the hospital or not. Two students supported Daniel, Bianca trailing behind him and casting one final glance at Connor over her shoulder before she followed them to the office of the school nurse.

Everyone turned their attention back on Connor and Haytham. Myriam dared to take one step forward, but after what she had just witnessed, such... brutality, she wasn't sure if she dared to get close to her friend now. Connor had flopped on his back again, eyes closed and his chest rising and falling with each deep, fast breath he took. One hand reached up and fisted into the material of Haytham's coat. 

Dad was here... he was here... he was safe, not in the Pits but here, with his father at his side. He was okay...

-=-=-=-

He'd finally stopped struggling, Haytham standing immediately, wide eyed for the first time in a long timeas he watched the fast rise and fall of Connor's chest. Rage, a still rage bubbled. The only thing keeping Connor safe was the fact they were in public, and to make a scene meant further embarrassment.

Connor couldn't control himself. He could not be trusted. That much was so evident, Haytham devoid of anything to verbally disclose. Their reputation, his company, his own life was on the line and here he was assaulting yet _another_ person! Hadn't he learned nothing?

The crowd had begun to dissipate, police arriving before Haytham could articulate a single word. "I'm assuming he's Connor?"

Haytham needn't be told what would happen, it was far too obvious. Connor was far too old to escape from physical assault without consequence. All that was left to do was to barter, cooperate. And bribe that other boy into dropping the charges with the promise of monetary gain.

"Yes. That's him." Haytham straightened his suit, picking away imaginary lint. Anything to keep his eyes, full of rage and scalding in their cold depth, away from his son's line of vision.

"Daniel Cross is pressing charges." 

Not even an ounce of surprise, and Haytham's teeth grit. The press would have a field day, his afternoon would be spent with lawyers...

Because his son could not _control_ himself. Haytham shook his head as an officer asked Connor to stand, lips pressed so hard together they grew white from the pressure. 

"You're under arrest for the assault of Daniel Cross. I'm going to need you to stand up-"

Before the gentleman could take out his cuffs, Haytham intervened, one final time. "... he's an agoraphobic, not a physical threat." Weary, doubtful glances were cast his way. Haytham sighed, eyes looking from the blood spattered floor to Connors swelling knuckles.

"Sorry, rules are rules." 

And he couldn't blame them, not in slightest given the circumstances. All he could do was grit his teeth and watch.

-=-=-=-

Connor cranked his eyes open, blinking up at the school's security. And the police.

Why was the police here? Not for... oh fuck! No ! NO! Fuck charges! Alright, he shouldn't have done this, he knew that, but Daniel had brought this upon himself! He had never made a problem with the guy, Daniel had been making problems with _him,_ and now _he_ was getting arrested for it?

_It wasn't his fault!_

Hastily scrambling onto his feet Connor staggered back, his eyes on the officers as one removed a set of hand cuffs from his belt. Oh no no no no no no! Dad, why wasn't he doing anything? He just stood there and watched!

"Please do not make this anymore difficult, sir. Turn around, hands behind your head." one of the officers said as he stepped forward, the handcuffs dangling from his fingers. Connor walked backwards until the dented metal of the lockers pressed against his back, not making a move to do as asked and shook his head.

The officer sighed and nodded at his colleague, who stepped forward as well. Before Connor could do anything to stop it, trying to keep his eyes on both of them, the two men grabbed him by the arms and forcefully turned him around, pressing him against the lockers. He tried to jerk away, one of his foot kicking against the metal as they pulled his arms behind his back and he felt the cold metal of the cuffs close around his wrist.

"You can come by the police station tomorrow." one of them explained to Haytham as they patted him down for hidden weaponry and then pulled him away from the lockers to march him away. He was still struggling, desperately trying to wrench himself free; they couldn't do this! Why was he always getting the blame for something that was beyond his control?!  
They weren't hurting him, but their grip was firm nonetheless. "Dad!" Why wasn't he doing anything?! Haytham, Myriam, Shaun, Mr. Simmons... they all just stood there and watched!

"DAD!" 

-=-=-=-

He struggled, resisting still. He had the audacity to address him as if he could magically right the situation with a well placed bribe and a charming grin. While it may out of something pity, this was far from such. And even if he could, he wouldn't do a damn thing.

Connor needed this, needed the harsh reality and accompanying wake-up call. His actions had consequences, and he was to blame at least partially for what had occurred. He could pick him up in the morning if he posted bail. Or if the charges were dropped.

Connor better hope the charges were dropped. Bail wasn't looking very _promising._

He fixed his son with a stare, removing any emotions he had. "Do not resist arrest, Connor. William and I both will have enough paperwork and talking to do with our lawyers, the media, and Daniel Cross as is, and it's an additional charge that you really don't need right now."

Business, that's what he simmered down to. He'd enough of babying him, enough of being the firm voice of reason and the weight of which all problems laid rest. He was tired, drained, aggravated... and this just topped off his day.

He said nothing further, turning on heel and doing what he'd wanted to do for a few days. The clack of his shoes echoed through the hall as he walked away, his first stop being the office to speak to William. This would need be handled immediately... and it seemed, so would his secondary idea.

And he couldn't help the remorse he felt, being forced to make this decision. And it was all directed at Connor.

-=-=-=-

Connor stopped his struggles, a look of hurt flashing over his features. Haytham hadn't talked to him like that, with so much cold distance in his voice since... 

Before long they rounded a corner, cutting Haytham, Myriam and the others from few. Connor dropped his head as the officers led him down the stairs, still holding onto him firmly. The panic was still there, but it felt... distant now. He could feel it, squirming around in his gut and making his body shake and tremble, but it felt drowned out by his father's words.

Haytham was angry. Pissed. At him. That much was clear.

They settled him into the back of a police car; the ride was short, only a few minutes but Connor didn't pay much attention to it. He was still having a hard time believing that this was happening; it felt more like a nightmare than anything else, and he hoped that he would wake up soon, in their bed, curled up next to his father's warm body.

His eyes burned, and he blinked furiously. He couldn't cry now, but he knew that if it happened he wouldn't be able to stop it. 

The two officers led him inside the police station after parking the car, through a door in the back. There were other people here as well, with handcuffs, waiting for their turn to be processed, but the officers led him along to a small room. He was turned around at a table and they reached behind him, fumbling with his fingers as they pressed them onto ink-soaked pads to take copies of his finger prints.

He normally wouldn't have tolerated them being so close and manhandling him around, but what could he do now? They had him, and he wasn't getting out anytime soon. Haytham had allowed them to take him without even trying. Had he really pushed his father so far that he... didn't even care anymore?

He flinched at the flash of a camera, faintly realizing that they were taking photos, before the officers took his arms again and marched him out of the room. They were talking, but to him or to each other he couldn't tell. Stopping in front of a door one of the officers unlocked it, and the metal of the cuffs around his wrists fell away. A small push between his shoulder blades and Connor stumbled into the holding cell, the barred door closing again with a heavy click.

He wasn't alone; about a half a dozen men shared the holding cell with him, all staring at him with expressions he couldn't quite decipher. Shuffling to the left Connor sat down in a corner, ignoring the benches because that meant sitting close to the others. Pulling his legs up he wrapped his arms around them and pressed his face into his knees, trying to keep his emotions under control.

He was in fucking jail... because he had attacked someone, he got that, but Daniel had it coming. Even so, what bothered and hurt him the most was the fact that Haytham had told him to accept it and let it happen.

But he'd get him out, right? Soon? He wouldn't leave him here?

~*~

"What do you think? Drugs?" Clipping the cuffs to his belt again the officer looked at the boy sitting in the corner of the holding cell, curled up in on himself.

"I'm not sure." he colleague answered. "It's possible, but I don't think so. That's that kid from the Brazil raid. I don't think that was drugs that made him beat a kid straight into the hospital."

"Hm... well, as long as he doesn't cause trouble here. Best keep an eye on him. I'm sure his dad will pick him up in the morning."

-=-=-=-

"Let me get this completely straight." 

William's couch was a far more comfortable place to vent his frustrations, Haytham having arrived a just minutes prior. Luckily William had a moment to spare; the next meeting wasn't for another hour, and for the first time in weeks Haytham would attend. After the appropriate steps were made.

"... he assaulted a student, in public, with hundreds of witnesses... for what, exactly?" 

Haytham could but shrug, pinching the bridge of his nose before taking a healthy gulp of scotch. "I couldn't tell you, I had him removed from the conversation with the dean for his immaturity." Haytham grit his teeth, jaw clenched. "So naturally he pulls a stunt like this."

William sighed, long and soft, before rubbing along Haytham's broad shoulder. "I'll... find a way to spin this in a different light."

"Oh for god's sakes you shouldn't have to. Honestly, the lad's volatile temper and lack of control got him into this, along with my lack of appropriate discipline."

It took William a moment, but he blinked, frowning none the less. "Tell me you are not seriously blaming yourself."

"Not entirely, no." Nor would he. The majority of the blame rested on Connor's head. "I'm sure the other lad provoked it, I'll give him twenty to thirty percent of the blame. Connor can take the gross majority, and leave me with a smaller percentile... I'd say around five percent. Yes. I'm five percent to blame."

"Besides the nonsensical percentages, how do you even draw such a conclusion?" William sat beside him, hand rubbing up and down his back. "It's not as if you were there. You're not responsible for his actions, Haytham-"

"Oh but I _am."_ Downing the rest of the scotch, Haytham sat otherwise still, the comforting gestures at least offering a physical form of relief. "I should have reacted to the first assault, but I was too weak to do so and let it fade into obscurity. Honestly, chalking it up to increased adrenaline and sparring, the boy was to blame and I let it pass." He gestured grandly, hand waving. "Soft behavior, weakness. It caused this, in part."

"It's not weakness to care for someon,e Haytham. He's your son, amongst... other things?" He wasn't sure, but the nod was confirmation. So they were still together, a couple even. Well, it explained a lot, Haytham's protective nature and softer reactions.

"It's a natural process. Connor has had a lot happen to him this past year, he has a lot of maturing to do, but this isn't the end of the world." A pat on the back and William stood, grabbing his cell phone. 

"Lets have a talk with our lawyers and speak to Daniel. I'm sure we can work something out and get the charges dropped. But for now, try to relax, Haytham." He let the worry show briefly. His friend was clearly at his wits end, unaccustomed to dealing with both fatherhood and the joys of having an emotionally troubled significant other. And he felt for him, for both of them, but it was far from his jurisdiction of knowledge.

Hopefully they could have Daniel drop the charges, costs be damned and anger aside, he was sure Haytham would want to do that much.

Either way, it would prove to be a long day. Best get started now.

-=-=-=-

The other prisoners he shared the holding cell with left him mostly alone, but that still made this experience far from pleasant. Just another thing to add to his resume.

The night dragged on. Connor did not leave his corner, even after his butt started hurting after sitting on the hard floor for so long. He kept his eyes on the ground, ignoring the other inmates and their whispering.

One tried to coax him into conversation a few hours in, but he failed to get a reaction out of him. His thoughts remained fixed on his father... what was he doing now? Was he still angry? Was he working to get him out? Would he be waiting for him in the morning? Would he listen to his apologies?

Did he miss him?

Connor hadn't been this long without his father since Brazil. It was pathetic, as a grown man. He was very well aware of that. But he missed him.

What about Bianca? Would she hate him now? And Myriam and Shaun, they had seen... what did they think? What would the media say? How would this affect his father's reputation and that of the company? What if he had just made everything even worse?

Someone brought them breakfast, but by the time one of the officers unlocked the heavy door and stepped in, calling his name, Connor still hadn't touched his plate, nor had he left his spot. "Connor Kenway?"

He slowly raised his head, blinking at the man with a dazed look in his eyes, who motioned at him to get up. "Your father is here. You're getting out, get up."

He did so, slowly pulling himself onto his feet and wincing at the cramp in his legs as he shuffled towards the door. The inmate who had tried to coax him into conversation earlier wished him good luck, and Connor did not struggle for once as the officer out the hand cuffs back on. Just a standard safety measure, he explained, at least until he could leave.

Connor walked next to him, not really paying attention to where they were going as the officer led him towards the lobby. Nervous... he was nervous for what his father would say. Connor kept his eyes down as they entered the lobby, unable to meet Haytham's eyes.

-=-=-=-

Hours upon hours. Hours with the lawyer, with the media, with Daniel Cross himself and back to Berkley, to tie up loose ends with the dean after hours.

From the setting of the sun and beyond, Haytham tied up the loose ends his son left in his wake, only to retire to his laptop and type what was a form of finality for him. Sent to William in the wee hours of the morning, his signature marked the spot, conceding his acceptance of the allocated terms. There was hardly a point to slumber beyond that, the sun already rose through the drawn curtains. For a moment, he parted the curtains to view the Atlantic, silently watching the slow rise. Silence, he had missed it.

Of course, Connor would find a way to ruin this too, his own concerns overriding the silence. Even in his anger, he thought of his well being, and that alone diminished his mood. Hands shook, Haytham's head shaking vigorously. Damnable affections. The lad deserved his damn anger, not his worry for the time being. Daniel Cross would need never work another day in his live, nor his children or grand children, and the possibility extended further if he budgeted or invested properly. But those were the terms of the agreement, notarized and signed, forever to be kept in a file cabinet. A constant reminder of his son's failed attempts at composure, at his own failures.

The drive was silent, Haytham uninterested in music. His shoes clacked against the tile hall, Connor unable to meet his eyes after he was fetched from his cell. And Haytham himself had no words, offering nothing but a swift turn of his back. He knew to follow. That he could hopefully do.

The silence stretched further, the ride short but far from pleasant. Haytham waited until they entered the apartment, unintentionally slamming the door with unnecessary force. Eyes met Connor, cold, distant grey, his voice just as tired, as angry as his eyes.

"I've contemplated your excuses all night." A deadly whisper, and Haytham stalked closer, until he was but a few centimeters from Connor's face, rage radiating from him in small waves. His anger had surpassed a boiling point, simmering over into venomous words.

"Not a single one was _acceptable_ lad. Make you excuse quick and make it damned _good."_ He was beyond asking, not after spending the entire day and night making up for his mistakes. It was his turn to answer.

-=-=-=-

No answer, no greeting, nothing. Just a glare, and Haytham waited just long enough for the officer to remove the cuffs before promptly turning around and marching out of the building. Connor had no choice but the follow.

They didn't say anything as the drove home; Haytham's anger was almost tangible, and Connor didn't dare to say anything that could possibly set him off. Connor stayed quiet and kept more distance than he usually did as they took the elevator up, even though he was desperate to stick close to him. Desperate for things to go back the way they had been a few days ago, before Haytham's irritation had started to show its ugly face.

He couldn't stop the flinch as the door slammed; Connor turned and finally met his father's eyes, trying not to shiver under the icy cold stare. Even harder was trying not to back away when Haytham marched forward until he was right in his face, hissing at him.

He had no excuse, not one that Haytham would accept. He could simply say that it had been Daniel's own fault, but that would never go over well. Dropping his gaze Connor stepped back and pressed himself against the wall, wrapping his arms around himself tightly. All he could do was tell him the truth.

"I know I shouldn't have done that..." It was the moment with Church all over again. "I really did try to control myself, I swear I did. I never made a problem with him, he made a problem with me. He's Bianca's boyfriend and I don't know why- I didn't even touch her! And there were so many people, all staring and whispering and he was yelling and trying to grab me and-" He had reacted violently, because it had reminded him too much of the Pits.

"I don't have an excuse... that is simply what happened..."

-=-=-=-

No excuse? He couldn't even be bothered to find a reason when in the likes of a cell?

More aggravating than if he'd had an actual excuse... Haytham's hand rested against the wall, shaking, closing. Connor was afraid. Curling in on himself, backed into a wall. Haytham could taste it on his tongue.

Good. He should be afraid of him.

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you, Connor?" Eyes were slits, narrowed as he let his rage conquer him. "Am I supposed to back away and apologize for inspiring fear when I should offer protection, comfort? Well, that's just it, _lad."_ What was normally a softened tone was a wild hiss, Haytham moving close enough to almost bump noses with his son. The proximity, rage fueled, was all he desired as he spoke with a tremor.

"I've tried being gentle!" 

The first slam of his fist into the wall, the crack of plaster loud enough to fill the room. "I've tried understanding, I've tried patience!" 

With the end of the sentence, the wall gave to the force of his fist, a hole created. His knuckles felt numb and his eyes burned, taking in Connor's fearful form. He would not be easy this time. He'd had enough of gentle.

"I've done _everything_ in my power to keep you protected, comfortable and safe! I've offered my shoulder for both your grief and to bear the brunt of your rage for two months, and I've had enough of your bullshit, you spoiled, uncaring, inconsiderate little _fuck!"_

A second hole formed, a bloody trail left as his knuckles tore from the powerful strikes. Connor averted his eyes, shaking. No. No he would not get to turn away.

"Look at me." He gripped his chin, turning it upwards. Misted eyes did nothing to minimize his anger. It was beyond tears, beyond anything he'd felt in sometime.

"I've made excuse after excuse for you. I've lost sleep, productivity, and ten million _dollars_ to prevent your name from being tarnished! My company is at stake, my livelihood, not just your own, and what do you do? Put it all to waste for some stranger you'll never see again?!" He let go, only to turn hiss in his face further.

"All I asked was for self control and you can't even do that. You're not the only one to suffer from abuse, to kill, to fight for survival. And yet you make an _ass_ out of us, out of yourself by breaking under the pressure, and I'm left _again_ to pick up the pieces. Well I've had enough of your shit, Connor."

His hoarse voice stooped to a growl, Haytham out of breath from practically screaming. "I'm done. I'm done shielding you. You shape up and take control of your anger or you get the fuck out! I will not be the only stable person making attempts in this relationship, you self absorbed asshole!"

He turned away, only to slam his fist into a wall again before stalking off to their bedroom. There were no regrets as he slammed the door, the paneling buckling and snapping under the force, Haytham then slamming the door to the bathroom. He had enough. Connor was a damn adult! He could no longer excuse him nor his actions.

-=-=-=-

He jumped, each time Haytham's fist slammed into the wall, only inches away from his head. He was yelling in his face, his expression scrunched up in rage and Connor could do nothing but stand there and listen to it, accept the angry words.

He knew. He _knew,_ all the things his father did for him... and while Connor appreciated it immensely, clearly it didn't show enough. He had dealt with the brunt of his father's anger more often, but never like _this._

And it was scaring him. Who would be left if he lost his father now?

Connor averted his eyes, no longer able to look at his furious grimace, but even that wasn't allowed. He blinked through the growing tears and held his hands up, pressing them against his father's chest. Connor didn't try to push him away from him, but he held his hands there nonetheless, a feeble attempt to create some kind of barrier, a shield against the furious, hurtful words.

Haytham's words were harsh and painful, but they rang with so much truth as well. Perhaps he really hadn't been trying hard enough. He knew he wasn't easy to be around with, but it wasn't like he was actively trying to be difficult, to be like that on purpose. He tried to get better, to get over this, but clearly he was doing something wrong here.

He couldn't stop the tears even if he tried, nor the soft whimpers and choked sobs, and still Haytham kept screaming in his face. And it was justified. He deserved this. He had screwed up once too many. He was chasing away everyone around him with his actions, his... lack of control... and now he was chasing away his father as well. And it _hurt._ It _hurt!_

He flinched again, harshly, as Haytham's fist slammed into the wall one last time before he stormed off to their shared bedroom. Connor was left shaking, trembling on his feet. He heard the door slam and his legs slowly buckled underneath him; sliding down the wall he covered his mouth with his hand, trying to bite back the sobs, to keep himself from bursting into tears. He couldn't.

Squeezing his eyes shut his head dropped, his frame shaking as he tried to breath around his sobs. Would Haytham really kick him out again if he couldn't get this under control, leave him to fend for himself on the street where he'd be an easy target?

Had he really pushed his father that far to no longer want him around? He _wanted_ to get it under control, but he didn't know how! Nothing helped and he kept getting into situations that brought up bad memories and made him do just what he was trying to prevent. He couldn't stop it, so what was he supposed to do?!

Burying his tear streaked face into his knees Connor wrapped his arms around his head, slowly rocking back and forth as he cried. What if this never got better? He didn't know how to fix this. He didn't know what to do anymore, because every time he tried to do the right thing, he fucked up. He couldn't blame his father for being so angry with him, for being fed up with his actions, but please... please... don't give up on him... 

-=-=-=-

A shower. A long, cold shower before he left for the day.

He couldn't sleep there, not with Connor around. Admittedly, his resolve was weak concerning his lad. His little spoon, so to speak, and he'd miss the press of his back to his chest.

But no. No he couldn't let his resolve weaken. Wringing his hair dry, Haytham dressed quickly, readying himself, bandages placed over split knuckles.

He had work to complete, his statement to make... and he'd do so without interruption from Connor. He needed time alone, truly alone. His son was home, he needn't worry. For the first time in weeks, he could worry about himself.

And first order of business; a nap. A long one, on his couch in the office before the press conference at noon.

Stepping outside their room, Haytham made his way toward the door, ignoring any murmur or noise that may sway him to go otherwise. No. He needed time. Connor needed time to reflect, and he needed a moment to cool off.

"Turn on Channel Nine at noon. I'll return shortly after." Cold as ice, he merely stormed out of the apartment, door not slamming but shutting with a controlled click. Time away from Connor would do him good.

-=-=-=-

Connor did not move from his place even after Haytham walked right passed him and left. Not even a good bye, only the order to turn on the television.

The tears had dried up by now, leaving his face feeling scratchy and puffy. His pocket vibrated and one glance down at his phone showed Myriam's name flashing on the screen. He should really accept the call, but what could he possible tell her? No... no, he couldn't talk to her until he knew how things stood between him and his father. Because right now, he honestly didn't know.

What he did know was that he had to man the fuck up already. Crying like a baby wouldn't fix a damn thing. Yes, Haytham had scared the shit out of him just now, and Connor was still fearful that his father would make true on his promise and tell him to pack his bags... but what kind of image would he show if he still sat here huddled in a corner by the time he returned?

No. He had promised himself he would try his damndest to get better, to get over this, to make his father proud again... might as well start now. They still had to talk after this, and it wasn't going to be easy... but it was a beginning.

Dragging himself to his feet Connor shuffled towards the bedroom, eying the damage to the door with how hard Haytham had slammed it. He had never done that before... he must have been _so_ angry...

A long shower later had him feel a little better. In after thought he sent Myriam a text, apologizing for not picking up and promising that he would explain things to her later. It was the least he could do for now; he had been neglecting her for far too long already.

He fixed himself a simple sandwich in the kitchen and turned on the TV in the living room. It was still too early for whatever Haytham wanted him to see, but he couldn't afford to miss it. Since there hadn't been time to continue his sparring sessions with Hickey - and he didn't know when he'd be able to again - Connor spent his time in front of the TV, not lounging on the couch for once, but doing sit-ups and push-ups in front of it. It was best to keep his exercise going, they were pretty much the only things he could do now, on his own without a gym around. Plus, the growing ache in his muscles helped him distract his mind from what was going on, and he didn't stop until he finally heard his father's name mentioned through the speakers of the TV.

Sitting up Connor wiped the sweat out of his eyes and blinked at the screen.

-=-=-=-

He arrived at his office in minutes, but remained seated in his car for some time. Windows open, radio on, for the first time in sometime he managed to sit and think, alone, without intrusion.

On the way to his office, the line of thoughts continued, Haytham resuming reading Anthym, a long forgotten novel he'd started months prior. An hour later, he'd finished, laying back and simply going over his speech. That proved to take little time at all, and Haytham was again left to stare at the ceiling, the icy demeanor he'd left with deteriorating into nothingness.

He made Connor cry. Made him cry hard enough to hear it from another room. And he left, without another word.

At the time it seemed more than justified. Now...

Opening his laptop, he logged onto Skype, glad to see William available. He received the message before he could send his own: _'You're on?'_

He intended to write a wise remark, but his door opened, William clicking his phone shut and peering at Haytham with a wide frown. Dark circles lined his eyes, disgruntled look plastered across his face. Otherwise put together, he only appeared to be in a foul mood.

William knew better.

"... I assume it did not go well with Connor this morning?" 

Haytham said nothing, simply moving aside, William taking his cue to sit beside him. It must be quite horrible; Haytham wasn't the type to almost beckon physical comfort. His head was on William's shoulder in no time, leaving him blinking.

Silence stretched, and Haytham remained put, unmoving as William pressed his cheek to his hair, stroking the rest. In the dead of the room he spoke, softly: "I told him to shape up or leave."

A blink, and William looked downward. All that remained visible was salt and pepper hair. He'd grayed more rapidly the last few months...

"Ah." 

Silence again, and Haytham moved, if only to sit up and properly look William in the eyes. "Ah? That's all you have to say?"

A shrug, and William folded his hands in his lap, frowning. "As opposed to: bad Haytham, you shouldn't have said that?" A smile tugged at his mouth. "It's clear you're feeling quite guilty about it."

"I've no idea what's gotten into me as of late." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Haytham let out a long winded sigh. "I'm not one for patience, but I've been almost anticipating his next faulty act, waiting to... erupt for lack of better term."

William could only nod. "Mm. Any reason why?"  
[19:38:44] Haytham'd: "Agitation. Aggravation. I've tried everything and nothing works. Therapy, sparring, borderline coddling-"

"Everything you wished you were provided in your own times of need?"

"Precisely! Well, ignoring the coddling but yes!" He paced the floor, William calmly watching with the smallest of smiles. "All of these things I've provided for him, squandered because he is incapable of controlling his anger."

"Mm. Like threatening to feed someone their own teeth in a bar, or taking a man's drink and chugging it before throwing the glass at the table and storming away?" 

A blink, and Haytham turned, William's eyes almost joyously lit. "Remember the time you hid in a farmer's bail of hay for three hours in the cold, just to knock some guy unconscious for... what did he do?"

"... he told Ziio she looked husky in her jacket. She wasn't offended outwardly but..."

"Oh yes right. Of course." William picked imaginary lint from his jacket, smile widening. "And how old were you?"

"... twenty-two."

"And _how_ did you remain out of trouble?"

He almost face palmed, sinking into a chair with a heavy thud. He remained silent, William's smile still wide. "Haytham."

"You. My own cleverness and when it failed, you."

"Precisely." William stood, a hand placed over Haytham's shoulder. "You've a son who inherited your temperament and it drives you _mad."_

"In my defense I've offered the finest therapy. I've made attempt after attempt to deal with his behavior and he cannot continue on this path."

"Oh I agree with you whole heartedly, Haytham." William sunk to eye level, smile slight. "This isn't your fault, not solely. Connor does need to get a handle on his temper, just you did." The smallest of twinkles remained in his eyes, William heading towards the door. "Just remember what helped you, Haytham. Not what _might_ have helped you, but what did help you, alright? He'll come around, and he'll forgive you for ..." William waved his hand, "... whatever it is you said."

"How can you be so sur-" But William was gone, leaving Haytham to briefly contemplate his own fate before readying his speech. Today was the day, it had to be now.

~*~

William stood just behind him, to his right, and Thomas to his left, serious for a change. Press with their rolling camera's and photographs taken from every angle. It was short, brief, and Haytham waited for his cue, face a portrait of neutrality, his voice remote and firm.

"It has been quite a year for Kenway Corporations, to put it minutely. Through both the expansion of the company and the series of most unfortunate events involving my own personal life, I've had a fastidious and tenacious staff that has stood behind the decisions I've made on behalf of my company. To them, my appreciation is not always showed, but is endless in quantity. To them, I extend my utmost respect and gratitude."

Camera's flashed about them, Haytham pausing briefly before continuing, chin raised.

"Recently, an incident involving my son and a supposed supporter of Kenway Corprorations and personal friend has fallen under the public's spotlight. Beyond the expected grief, it has come to my attention that I should perhaps invest more time in what I deem to be most important."

A hand on his shoulder, and William stepped forward, Haytham half turning with the slightest upward twitches of his lip.

"It is without trepidation that I focus more on restoring my family to it's rightful state and hand over my company to William Johnson, the temporary CEO of Kenway Corporations and Thomas Hickey, the secondary CEO in William's own progression." 

A murmur, loud and all encompassing, and after shaking both of their hands, Haytham leaned into the microphone one final time.

"No questions will be taken at this time."

-=-=-=-

...

What?

WHAT?

He was quitting the company?!

Wide-eyed, Connor could only stare at the screen with his eyes blown wide open, unbelieving what he had just heard. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't _this!_ He was handing the company over to William! Granted, he said temporarily, but still! And for what?

So he could... focus more of his time and attention on... him?

But wasn't that why he had stormed off in the first place? Because Haytham was getting sick and tired of the problems that seemed to follow Connor around?

"Jesus... dad..." he muttered and flopped on the couch, barely listening to the reporters of Channel 9 talking to each other about the Company, it's history and the events that had led to this. His own name was mentioned once or twice but he ignored it and grabbed his phone, his thumb already hovering over the call button of Haytham's number.

No... no. Calling him now would do nothing to improve his father's mood, for sure. Tossing his phone on the table Connor stood up again, clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing around in front of the television. He was quitting the company... everything he had worked for, for the last twenty or so years, he was pushing it aside and giving it to someone else.

And _he_ had driven Haytham to do that.

How did one _deal_ with such a thing? Ultimately, this was all his fault. If he had tried harder, hadn't been such a stubborn ass refusing to go to therapy and listening to his advice, then perhaps this wouldn't have happened!

"Shit..." Stopping, his fingers laced together at the base of his skull and Connor took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the guilt he felt. That was it then. No more fucking around. The sooner he got over his problems, the sooner Haytham could go back doing what he loved the most; his company. 

He'd deal with Stillman every fucking day if that was what Haytham wanted. No more complaining, no more stubbornness. No more... pushing his father away, and making him do things he didn't want to do, and forcing him to deal with this crap.

Sighing Connor began pacing again, casting glanced at the clock each time he passed it, waiting for Haytham to come home.

He'd try harder to get better. Try harder, or die trying. 

-=-=-=-

Questions, lights, camera flashes- William had been courteous enough to stay behind and deal with the media, most of which were satisfied just to have someone answer them. But a select few would badger him until he opened his car door, and even then his car was surrounded, Haytham having to carefully maneuver about just to enter the packed Manhattan streets. Bumper to bumper traffic, but it was no matter.

He was both anxious yet desperate to arrive home.

The brief conversation with William truly signified a reawakening. Connor was in fact very much like him in a way. Perhaps his emotions were still raw, expressed in a more volatile fashion, but Haytham himself had bouts of anger, the likes of which came under control only when he began to feel appreciated. Wanted.

And that was around Ziio and William... and even Charles.

Two of them were no longer a possibility, of course. Haytham stroked his scar through the material of his jacket. But William was still a constant, and with Ziio's departure left a new constant; Connor. Granted he was a constant at greying his hair and causing him borderline relentless agitation but the lad did... care. Surely. He was simply too far involved in the possibility of revenge and what occurred to be bothered at the moment.

"Connor..." He opened the door just barely, bracing himself for the worst.

-=-=-=-

Connor's head jerked up as soon as he heard the click of the front door, and heard his name being called in his father's voice, softer than he had expected. It didn't sound angry this time.

He nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to run around the couch, coming to a halt in the doorway that connected the living room to the hall. Haytham still stood near the front door and Connor... found himself at a loss of words.

There were so many things he wanted to say and tell him. Apologies. Promises. Questions. Where to even begin?

"So um..." Biting his lip he offered a small, helpless shrug. "So I... I saw. And... I know you don't want to hear anymore apologies and excuses, but... I'm really, truly sorry if t-this happened because of me. I know I've been an inconsiderate asshole a-and..."

A deep shaky breath and Connor squeezed his eyes shut. No! No more tears! He was done looking pathetic!

"You have every right to be angry at me... e-everything you said before you left... I get it. I understand, I really do. I haven't been trying hard enough and..." and he hadn't shown his appreciated for all the things Haytham had done for him, and was still doing for him.

"I'm... s-sorry that I've driven you to do this. That was never my intention. I n-never meant to... to push you away, or... or hurt you. I'm sorry..." 

-=-=-=-

... Well. Not what he'd expected.

Granted, there was a validity to what was said, to some degree. Connor's behavior did need to change and if he was to be brutally honest... he perhaps, felt under appreciated. He had tried for months, and Connor's responses to most of his proposals were downright negative and more often than not, rude.

That part of the apology he'd accept.

He did, however, have a massive issue with something else said.

"Lad..." he almost hesitated, noting averted eyes clenched shut. If he wasn't mistaken, he was close to tears, for the second time that day. Because of him, no less.

"... Why do you think I decided to leave the company, exactly?" Surely he understood, even at his angriest, that he... spoke out of turn and did, in fact, care for him. Deeply. He understood that, he must have.

-=-=-=-

That... was a difficult question to answer. Not because he didn't know it, because he did, but it felt.. weird to say. Weird wasn't even the right word for this.

Haytham had made it perfectly clear during the press conference. For family. For him. He had done it for him. 

Connor wrapped his arms around him and dug his nails into the sleeves of his shirt. "For me." he muttered and squeezed his eyes shut, correcting himself. "For us. So that we can fix this, make this-" he gestured between the both of them. "better, make it work again. Like it used to be." Before everything had gone to hell.

Connor still couldn't get over the fact that he had given away his _company!_ But there was nothing to be done about it now, except making sure that his father's sacrifice wouldn't be in vain. But there was one thing he had to ask though, something he _had_ to know!

"What you said before... I h-have to know." He looked up then, a wet sheen in his eyes. "Did you mean what you said? If I can't get this under control, will you really... kick me out then?" It wouldn't be the first time... Haytham had told him to pack his bags and leave before. Who was to say he wouldn't do it a second time and just be done with it all, because it was no longer worth his time and effort? 

Blinking once Connor closed the distance between them and reached up to grab his father's shirt. "I can do this, I promise! I can get it done, I swear!" He wasn't quite sure what made him do it; desperation perhaps, or fear that Haytham would say yes and make true on his threats, but Connor leaned forward and closed his eyes, ignoring the hot trail of a tear sliding down his face as he very lightly pressed his lips against his father's mouth, brushing them together as he softly spoke: "Please d-don't give up on me, dad. I'l g-get better, I p-promise. I promise. B-but I can't do it w-without you. I can't d-do it on my own. Please..."

-=-=-=-

He understood. Good. Haytham visibly relaxed, tempted to move forward, but Connor didn't stop there.

And what came out made him halt mid-movement.

No, no he hadn't meant it. He hadn't meant that in the _slightest._

After the stunt in Brazil, Haytham in no way wanted to Connor to leave the safety of their home for an extended period of time. No, he wanted him to become better acquainted with the outside world but he didn't want him to leave. Even if they didn't work well as a couple, he was his father.

It had bothered him _that_ much? Soft lips pressed against his own, the murmured words chilling him. His hitching breaths and shuddered words, the weakened pleas... Connor needed him, clearly and obviously. Perhaps it wasn't shown in a traditional sense, but it was _evident._ The same way Haytham had preferred the comfort of Ziio, Connor did need him, in his own way. And he'd threatened him in a moment of mutual weakness, acting as if he was disposable simply because his patience was lacking.

It wasn't often said, the words that left his lips. Haytham's hands pulled him, tear streaked face and all much closer, close enough to hear his heart pound as he left a slow, soft kiss against his lips. The first one left in sometime. Nothing more than lips meeting, caressing. Hopefully, comforting.

But if they were lacking, his words would make the point he lips could not.

"I'm sorry." It hadn't been said in years, and he said it again, reaffirming it with another peck. "I'm sorry, lad." He pulled back enough to meet eyes, eyes that he wiped with the pads of calloused thumbs. "I was infuriated, and while I had and have every right to be angry for recent transgressions, that was uncalled for. I would not wish to see you anywhere else than here, lad." Fingers through dark hair, he pulled out a tie to run his hand through it, the other arm pulling Connor to him, firmly. By his side, where he belonged.

"My decision was made weeks prior to the event that occurred yesterday." He made eye contact as he said that, a protective streak in him beckoning. "I simply wanted time with you, to work on both our relationship and your own well being without interruption. And while not an easy decision, lad, it's one even in anger I will stand by as the right one."

-=-=-=-

It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulder. He hadn't meant it. Haytham hadn't meant it. Connor let himself be pulled closer and his hands left Haytham's shirt in favor of wrapping around him. "I understand..." he muttered and pressed his face in the crook of his father's neck.

How this would go from this point forward he didn't know. It was likely Hickey would no longer have the time to spar with him, seeing as he was now promoted to secondary CEO... but perhaps, if dad was up for it, then maybe... he had initially promised he would after all, before Hickey had taken up the role. Hickey was good, but if the choice were up to him, he'd rather have his dad.

But he didn't want to think about that, what the future would bring. It could wait. For now, the fact that things were okay between him and his father right now was more important than anything. No talk about the company, no talk about training, about school, about tracking down Silas and Cutter.

Just him and his dad. 

It was relaxing, listening to his father's steady heartbeat. He was close enough he could even feel it reverberate through his chest and into his own. 

"You're not mad at me anymore then?" he asked and shifted slightly, slowly running his fingers down Haytham's back as he turned his head to brush his lips over his pulse thudding in his neck, kissing it softly. He was finally calming down now, his own heart beat slowing down to its usual rate but even so he made no move to pull away; he was comfortable here, pressed up against his father, his warm body and his embrace. And he wasn't going to leave.

-=-=-=-

Not angry. Well he hadn't said that, exactly. There was still much to discuss between them, regardless of his mistaken intentions.

"Agitated would best describe it, lad. Within reason, of course." He allowed the hug to continue, if only because it was a comfort; physical proof that they had a bond, and he did need the reminder, now and again.

"I do need you to make attempts to control your anger, lad. Though, not in the ways you may think." He was reluctant to pull back, only doing so far enough to look at his son's face. Handsome little lad, as always.

"You don't have to allow a person to touch you. You're entitled to pull away, to verbally threaten, to sneer in distaste; it's all permissible. You simply cannot beat someone into the hospital." His arms stayed around Connor, tightening before he let go. But only to offer him his hand, slipping fingers through them before leading them both to the bed, laying down and pulling Connor to him.

"You don't have to become what you once were in terms of sociability. I don't expect it, frankly it would be odd if you did. However, we need to get you acquainted with crowds again, if only to tolerate them." 

He ran hands over Connor's side, smirk twitching at his lips. "With all the training you're doing it would be a shame to get to infiltration and have you incapable due to discomfort." Training indeed. He could feel the muscles from under his shirt, beginning to form. Mm.

"The rest is fine as is, lad. All I ask is to start making the attempts. Small steps and the like." It was a process to be certain, but one that could be done. And he couldn't help but tug on the fabric of Connor's shirt, smile tugging at his lips. "Very... effective training you've been doing, I might add."

-=-=-=-

Oh, he had some good points there.

Connor laid down on the bed, on his side and face to face with his father. Really good points... of course there were plenty of ways to let someone know he wasn't appreciative of their touch or their proximity. The most difficult part was controlling the immediate urge to send his fist flying the moment someone came too close for comfort.

It was all thanks to the Pits, where he hadn't had a choice but to lash out as soon as someone came at him, in order to stay alive. But he was in the Pits no longer. Brazil was behind him, or would be at some point in the future. He could work on this.

"You're gonna help with the training then?" he asked as he flicked his eyes up and draped his arm over his father and toyed with his ponytail, daring to smirk a little. "You've been sitting on your business ass for too long, you could do with some exercise." He was just teasing of course... he knew Haytham spent time in the gym and for someone his age, he couldn't wish for a better form.

But of course there was always room for improvement.

"Yeah... Hickey's been a pretty good teacher..." he answered at the tug of his shirt, and scrunched his nose. Bah... the material, scratchy with dried sweat, felt uncomfortable on his skin. Removing himself from his father for just a moment, Connor grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, wincing as one of the feathers in his hair snagged, and carelessly threw it on the floor as he settled down on the mattress again. "Sorry... I was working out before you came home to pass the time... haven't had a chance to shower yet..." Stinky sweat, ugh.

-=-=-=-

Business ass, hm? He let the comment slide, instead watching the cotton t-shirt hit the floor. Indeed, a muscular frame and that had, in fact, increased in it's bulk, in it's muscular disposition.

Abdominals, biceps, pectorals... Connor certainly had been attempting training with a serious eye. Yes, perhaps training with him would be ideal; that had been the intention, after all. And he'd certainly have the time. Under one condition, of course.

"We'll start training tomorrow, uninterrupted for a change." He fought the urge to touch his abdominals, averting his eyes. It had been some time, hadn't it? Connor's frame was more than tempting, but he had more self control. Even though his body didn't.

A flush on his cheeks, and Haytham averted his eyes. "So long as we perhaps, do so clothed, mm?" He chuckled, a flush gathering before he could fight it. Ah well, his lad weakened his resolve in more ways than one.

But that didn't mean he should act upon it. Haytham straightened, slowly sitting upright, attempting to calm the current reaction he hadd to the sight and proximity of his body. "Dinner then, yes? I'm sure you've yet to eat." And he hardly wished to make the moment awkward. Sexual contact- while not avoided- hadn't reached beyond a simple hand job say for the time he bottomed. Nor would he pressure him.

"What have you an appetite for?"

-=-=-=-

Connor perked up a little at that. Tomorrow? Yeah. Yeah, okay! "I'd like that." Clothed though? He tended to remove whatever shirt or tank top he was wearing after some time, simply because he didn't like the feel of it when it started sticking to his sweaty skin, but it was a small price to pay... whatever the reason was Haytham wanted to do it clothed.

Like hell they were going to be doing it naked, come on!

"I had a sandwich after you left." he said as Haytham sat up, and he rolled onto his back. What did he fancy right now? He wasn't sure... "Something simple I think... nothing that takes too long to prepare. Maybe something like... the dinner equivalent of breakfast in bed?" That way he didn't have to get up, because he had been quite comfortable here, next to his father!

"Want me to help? Or are you still worried I'll blow up the kitchen?" The fact that he felt good enough to tease and joke again showed how comfortable he was, now that they had talked things over.

-=-=-=-

He blinked, lips twitching, before covering the small smile with his hand. "You are truly a clueless little thing, aren't you?" Tapping Connor's nose, he settled back down. Might as well come out with it...

"I was attempting to avoid scaring you." Taking Connor's hand in his own, he pressed it, briefly, to what was his semi erect cock. The look on his face... Haytham chuckled, head shaking. "Somehow your shirtless presence in the kitchen would hardly help the situation, as appreciated as the gesture is." And it was, marginally. He'd trust Connor with a knife, not so much with the flames of a stove.

His smile remained, Haytham going as far as to playfully elbow his son. "Don't look so surprised, you were attractive enough before training. I'm only human, lad." Still... Haytham sighed, patting the seat next to him with a wink. "Nothing to concern yourself with, I assure you. Relax, I'll put popcorn on, we can watch one of your ghastly movies."

-=-=-=-

His eyebrows furrowed together... clueless? Oh come now! Still, his face flushed an interesting shade of red and his eyes widened a bit as Haytham forced his head against his groin, feeling the outline of his cock through the material of his pants.

Oh.

Connor blinked slowly and slowly swallowed. Right. Because he was shirtless? He had walked around shirtless before. So what?

The smile on Haytham's face betrayed that he was only being playful though. They hadn't done much of a sexual nature since that one time in the bathtub, save from two or three hand jobs they had shared. They really had been taking it easy, so far Connor had still felt reluctant going all out, or doing more than what they had been doing.

But it had been two months... wasn't it about time they took this a step forward again? He was... willing to try, he supposed. Maybe... it would help, if this was successful? 

It definitely wasn't an easy decision to make. But... this was his father and right now, especially after what had transpired today, Connor wanted him close more than before, enjoy his company and everything that he was willing to offer.

And from what he could _feel,_ he was willing.

"How about..." he began and took a deep breath, before his fingers squeezed gently and his palm rolled down over the bulge as he looked up to meet Haytham's eyes. "No movie. I'm not... interested in watching a movie." He shifted slightly and sat up, reaching out with his other hand to tangle it in his father's hair, near the base of his skull, and leaned forward slowly. "We can do something else...? If you want?" His lips brushed over his and Connor closed his eyes. He'd have to wait and see how far he'd be willing to go... but he was up for trying again.

-=-=-=-

Well. He almost faltered, briefly shutting his eyes. Mm, that. That felt so very nice. It had been sometime since they were physical, hadn't it? Haytham would be lying if he said he wasn't interested.

Yet... Haytham did allow the kiss, a soft brush of lips, but he needed to say it, softly. "My intentions weren't to sway you, lad." And he certainly didn't want a decision based on his own desires, nor on what transpired.

"What happened today is no reason to engage in the activity, either. I assure you I'm committed to your recovery, regardless of your decision. Think carefully, and if you wish to continue, we will. If not, I'll have tea going and a movie ready." A kiss on his forehead, and Haytham moved to stand, ruffling dark hair with affection. This wasn't something to rush.

-=-=-=-

His words made sense, but what had transpired today was not the only the reason why Connor wanted to do this. This was part of his recovery as well, to be able to be fully intimate with his father again, without unwanted memories or fear clouding his judgment. How would he get over it, if they didn't try?

His eyes flicked up as his hair was ruffled and his hand fisted in the back of Haytham's shirt as he attempted to stand up, tugging on it slightly.

"I've thought about it. I want to try, dad." His fingers loosened again, and smoothed over the wrinkled fabric. Unlike Haytham, he wasn't hard himself. Not yet. But he would be. "You say you are committed to my recovery... well, this is part of it as well. And it's... been long enough, don't you think?"

-=-=-=-

Long enough? Haytham blinked, before settling back down, softly. No, actually it could have taken him years to get over something of that nature. It had taken so long to attempt to bottom again after Reginald, Haytham was in no hurry.

That didn't mean Connor was without validity.

"Recovery indeed." Pressing his forehead to Connor's, he ran fingers through dark hair, smile tugging at his lips. "Everyone recovers at a different rate, lad. Though, if you feel ready, I certainly won't stop your progress." Calloused fingers skirted across dark flesh, skirting over his back and down his spine, coming to rest at the small of his back before drifting upward in a slow, long caress.

"If you need me to stop, tell me to do so." Lips, against Connor's jaw, against his chin, his lips, his neck- he couldn't touch enough skin, kiss enough flesh.

Again, he pressed his lips to Connor's, firmer, longer, before parting, thumb stroking his cheek. "Whatever you want, lad."

-=-=-=-

Closing his eyes Connor laid back down again. It was soon, it really _was._ But if he didn't start now, then when? He wasn't sure if he was ready to go all the way though, to already deal with his father's preference to be rough and fast. He had asked him often enough to go slow while they were doing it, but Haytham just never seemed to really want to, so Connor dealt with it because it was still very pleasurable.

But not now. They could save rough play for another day.

For now though, Haytham seemed to be taking his time. Connor arched his head back and began to unbutton Haytham's shirt, slightly trembling fingers working on loosening the fabric. Once it fell open they slipped up, over Haytham's ribcage and chest towards his shoulders, pushing his shirt down until it bunched around his elbows. Connor left it there and trailed his hands up again, swiftly pulling the red ribbon out of Haytham's hair and stroking his fingers through the now loose strands... there was more grey then he remembered, and again he felt a pang of guilt before quickly brushing it away again and applied light pressure against the back of his father's neck, pulling him down so he could meet him in a kiss again, opening his mouth for him.

This wasn't the time for guilt, or worries.

-=-=-=-

The lad always preferred his hair cascading around them both. Truth be told, 'twas why he hadn't truly cut it in sometime.

Their kiss grew sloppy, but no less domineering. There was a sense of difficulty in that. To say he was acquainted with a less passive roll would have been a lie. Dominance, leading, aggression- all traits that comprised his very being. Haytham faltered as he almost quickened the pace, reigning in his desires.

Self control was key, and he had that. It was simply time to utilize it properly.

While fingers made little work of Connor's pants, and Haytham allowed them to do so quickly, his kiss remained slower. Not quite gentle, but certainly less aggressive as his efforts were made known.

More time spent exploring, tracing his tongue along Connor's, over the roof of his mouth and ghosting over parted lips. He'd always been one for kissing, an enthusiastic lead. Using less force wouldn't change that.

Fingers drifted over skin, up around the muscled contours of a strong abdomen and over what was a notably sensitive ribcage. Calloused fingers traced an uneven, healed rib, grip unintentionally tightening on Connor's form. Physical proof that they would overcome what had occurred only months prior.

He would aid him in any way.

-=-=-=-

Connor lifted his hips, allowing his father to work his pants and underwear down and shoved them down his legs with his feet until he could kick them off.

He shivered as fingers trailed over his ribs, and his gasp was swallowed up by the kiss they shared as the touched the bump of the rib that had healed crooked. It didn't hurt but it was sensitive.

"Dad..." he whispered as he pushed his hips up again, trying to meet him; it was a slow process but he was slowly beginning to feel the first stirrings of arousal. One of his hands left Haytham's hair as he sucked on his tongue and swooped his own over his teeth, trailing it down to worm it between their bodies.

He wasn't quite sure what to ask for here, as he blindly tried to remove Haytham's belt with only one hand, pop the button and pull down the zipper. He wanted to do more than just a hand job, be closer. Asking for it though, felt... humiliating.

-=-=-=-

Hands, over his own belt, pants, zipper. The first time in sometime Connor had initiated contact. It was both arousing and perplexing.

Removing his shirt, he aided in the removal of his own pants, a hand placed on his son's chest as he pushed him, downward, to press against the sheets. He could expect retaliation in the form of sexual pleasure then. It wasn't the first time since Brazil, but the offers had been few and far apart.

He would not push the subject. Body laying over Connor's, he followed the path down his neck, over his pulse, the nips and scraping of teeth over his collar bone, his ribs. Salty flesh, from the sweat no doubt. He hardly minded it, his own erection hardening further, pressing to his son's leg. There was something horribly masculine about the slight tang of sweet, especially over a well muscled form.

He spat, once, heavily into the palm of his hand, the free hand following his mouth as he marked a path upward again. Reaching Connor's mouth he kissed once more, a brush of lips, before utilizing what was a firm grip and pumping in slower, longer jerks. His could only hope his attempts for a gentler touch were noted, his son's erection firm, twitching.

But the look on his face didn't quite match. Pleasure, yes. But there was something else... something he couldn't name.

His palm slowed, Haytham resting his head by Connor's neck, lips playing with an ear lobe. He tried a different angle, but the expression remained. A different twist of the hand... but no. While erect, the silence in the room was cause for concern. Enough for Haytham to slow his pace and frown.

"Connor?" His attempts to be slower, gentler; perhaps they were not enough. He wasn't accustomed to slow nor gentle, and while he doubted he was hitting the mark with absolute accuracy he was almost certain it was a vast improvement. Though another look at the lad's face made him drop his hand completely, instead toying with a hip bone under dark skin.

"An inadequacy or discrepancy is better voiced, lad. Despite popular belief, I'm no oracle."

-=-=-=-

Ah damn.

Feeling the heat flush to his face Connor closed his eyes and grit his teeth. Goddammit, don't make him say it...

Then again... how could he expect Haytham to understand unless he spoke up? The hand job was more than nice; Haytham's grip was perfect as well, just tight enough and in just the right angle, making it almost impossible for him not to try to fuck the tight space his curled fingers provided.

"I um..." Swallowing thickly Connor forced his hips to still, feeling the hot flesh of his father throb against his thigh. "I was... wondering if we could... do something more than hand jobs."

There. It was out. The question still remained though; what? Haytham still refused to give blow jobs, so that was out of the question as well. That left one thing.

"I'm just not sure if I'm ready to deal with your..." Clearing his throat Connor felt his face redden even more and sucked his lower lip between his teeth to worry at it. His fingers were still stroking through Haytham's greying hair, toying with the soft strands; his other hand reached down to cover the hand on his hip, squeezing it in a way he hoped would let his father know that what he was trying to say wasn't meant to offend. After what had happened today the last thing he wanted was to make him angry again "... preference for... rough play..."

Oohhhh his face was _burning!_ "Sorry." he muttered quickly and closed his eyes. "But I don't think it's wise to... play rough so soon."

Eh... maybe sticking to hand jobs were best for now. It was still very enjoyable. "Never mind. We can just... do this..." His hand left Haytham and moved to his cock, closing his fingers around in what he knew was the tight grip his father preferred.

-=-=-=-

C'mon lad, out with it. It wasn't vocalized, but he waited, almost curiously as a hand tightened around his own. It took everything he had not to lean into a hand playing against his scalp. Oh that was far too enjoyable for his own good, he could retire into a slumber from the mere stroking alone.

Ah, but yes. Business first. He was wondering if...

Oh? Oh! Well.

He wouldn't submit to the idea of providing oral stimulation, the thought simply did not fare well with him. But the flush on blossoming across Connor's face spoke volumes, his fidgeting continuing. It only heightened his state of curiosity.

Deal with his... rough play?

His eyebrows furrowed, but in anything but agitation. Rough play? He never considered himself overly rough. Certainly he was not gentle by any means, that he knew well. The fact remained no lover ever made mention of his tendencies to be 'rough', as Connor put it.

Haytham watched the reddened face, frown twitching at his lips. He didn't understand. It didn't make sense. His grip loosened and left Connor's cock in entirety, hand moving to rest on his face, thumb stroking a prominent cheek bone.  
"You're baffling from time to time." Each word was laced with curiosity, his voice neutral and speculative. "I can't fathom why you're apologizing." Honestly, he hadn't a clue. And that wasn't something he lacked in often.

He continued no less, almost shrugging. "I hadn't realized my exertions were a bit on the excessive side. I simply assumed you liked as much after our first coupling." Blinking, Haytham tilted his head once more, hand leaving Connor's cheek to once again stroke his erection, pressing fingers against a sensitive, prominent vein.

"Love making, then, or something similar, yes?" Pressing his lips to Conor's, briefly, breath ghosted lips as he spoke. "I see no reason I can't make the attempt, lad." Nor why it had him blushing profusely, but some things were simply beyond his realm of logic.

"... I'll return shortly, one moment lad." He let go in entirety, rolling over to waltz through the living room and into the kitchen. His own stunt almost two months prior had taught him something beyond the simple fact that his prior lover _sucked_ at coitus. Grabbing a bottle, he leaned against the frame of the door, shaking what was peanut oil, expression blank.

"Sufficient for lubricant, yes?" He refused to use real lube, but oil would do the trick just as well, and it was far less nasty.

-=-=-=-

... he blinked. How was this baffling?

"I do like it!" he quickly interjected. Oh no, he didn't want Haytham to think that he wasn't a fan of the way they played and just put up with it to please him, no! "It's just that... I wouldn't say no to proper lubrication for once and... and some more time to adjust because you're rather..." His fingers squeezed around his length. You know. On the large side.

And he had told him this more than once! The lubrication part anyway...

He moaned softly as deft fingers stroked his cock, and it took him a moment for the words to filter through his brain. Love making? Uh... not exactly, but similar. 

He nodded, blinking owlishly as Haytham suddenly stood up and promptly left the bedroom. Okay?

So... all the way then. Was he ready for it? He wasn't sure, he really wasn't... and he hoped he wouldn't loose control of himself and start panicking while there were at it. That would ruin it completely...

He could do this. It had been two months, he could get over this too, maybe even today.

The sound of Haytham's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and Connor looked up, eyes falling on the small bottle he held in his hands. Peanut oil? "I guess..." he muttered. Well now, look at that. No spit this time.

Still, the nervous pangs he felt in his gut wouldn't go away. Closing his eyes he covered his face with his hands, and took a deep, shaky breath. Goddammit, relax! He wouldn't let the memory of what Cutter had done to him ruin this for him too!

-=-=-=-

Hm. Not quite the reaction he'd wanted. It was all too obvious how Connor felt, averting his eyes behind his hands, ones that shook. A frown pulled at his face and Haytham approached the bed slowly, sitting with just as much caution. Perhaps Cutter truly had impacted him more than he thought.

He wouldn't state the obvious again. Had Connor wanted to avoid the activity, he would have stated as much, The fact remained he wanted, in the very least, to make an attempt.

Condolence was not necessary, nor pity. He could ascertain that much. Instead Haytham resumed what was a loose grip, holding what was the flagging erection in his hand before squeezing slightly. He would not give oral, he simply could not conceptualize doing so- easing his son's anxiety, however, was a must.

His words were tentative, soft, a flush gathering about his face as he stepped out of what was a comfort zone of sorts. His hand kept pace, his lips pressing to Connor's neck, his voice a murmur other than the slick sounds of his oiled hand siding along slightly hardened flesh. He himself breathed deeply, uncertain of how this would be received. It was worth a try.

"... I've never been one for vocalization, lad." Lips pressed to a thundering pulse, a free hand toying briefly with a nipple until pert, venturing to return the gesture on it's twin. "Honesty is what I attempt to aim for, no matter the consequence, and I will continue to do thusly." His own breath hitched, lips pressed to Connor's shoulder, suckling flesh hard enough to leave a mark, one which his tongue laved over continuously before he dared speak.

"... our time in the hot tub, that..." Again, hesitance, and Haytham felt his own face flush, the smallest of what may have been considered a shy chuckle leaving him, if one was brave enough to call it such. "... had _that_ been my first attempt at bottoming, I may have considered repeating the position much earlier in life."

It wasn't horribly sexy, but it had it's point. Haytham continued regardless, hands still pumping slowly. "Suffice to say, you surprised me greatly. I hadn't realized the enjoyment of such a circumstance, and your pacing, strength... you could have certainly caused me pain but neglected to do so out of what I believe was affection." 

Breath, Haytham. He exhaled a breath, lips resuming marking his sons neck, eyes focusing on the blossoming bruises across flesh. "Know that... I intend to return the act in kind, to the best of my ability, should you so acquiesce."

A thick swallow, and a whisper left his lips before his tongue skirted over Connor's earlobe. "Should you acquiesce, I promise the most intense orgasm I've given you _yet."_

-=-=-=-

His hands lowered as he felt the bed dip, Haytham climbing on the bed again. His hand closed around his erection again, which Connor hadn't realized had flagged down to half-mast. His grip was slicker now, the slide of his palm easier; he let out a shuddering breath, keeping his eyes closed as his father settled over him like a blanket, and lips nuzzled against his throat.

Whatever explanation he had expected, it wasn't this. Since the hot tub, Haytham hadn't brought up his experiences (or lack thereof) with bottoming again. Connor slowly rolled his hips into the ring of his father's fingers, slowly growing hard again as he breathed in and out with low, steady breaths, and gasped whenever his lips sucked with a little more force, or teeth nipped at his skin.

He had really enjoyed being allowed to top his father, knowing that he trusted him enough to do so. One day, Connor hoped to be allowed to do it again. Knowing that his father trusted him so much, to give himself to him in such an intimate way, truly meant a lot.

This though... Connor understood what he was trying to say. He was promising to go slow, to be gentle, to take his time with him, to do it the way Connor wanted instead of his own personal preference, the way he was used to.

And he could trust his father to keep his promise, right? To be the complete opposite of Cutter. He only had to say yes.

This was his father, giving him a chance to turn his back on that part of his experiences in the Pit, to turn his back on what Cutter had done and move forward. It was scary; such memories were hard to erase and ignore.

But with his father, this was something he could do. 

Lowering his hands Connor blinked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath and then looked down into his father's face. And all he could see in his eyes was honesty, affection, and desire... for him. Eying the bottle of oil Haytham had left on the bed, Connor swallowed thickly and reached out, picking it up and bringing it closer.

"Alright..." Meeting grey eyes again he pressed the bottle into Haytham's hand and managed a small smile. "I trust you, dad. It's okay."

-=-=-=-

Mm. His own lips twitched, in the semblance of a smile. Better. Much better.

Uncapping the oil and letting Connor's cock slip free of his grip, Haytham took his cue, thoroughly coating three fingers before leaving a lingering kiss on Connor's lips. He himself laid on his side, watching Connor intently through the occasional nip or kiss.

Slipping his fingers over his foreskin, trailing over his sack and stopping briefly to massage his taint, Haytham moved his leg if only so Connor could spread his own wider. No words were spoken, his touch firm but slow, his index finger pressing once, twice, before inserting in what was an elongated press, Haytham pausing when he was knuckle deep.

Almost unbelievably tight. He couldn't recall their last specific encounter like this, but it had been some time. The other fingers pressed against his rectum, Haytham all too aware of the small and raised amounts of scar tissue. It was possible Connor hadn't realized their presence, or hadn't thought it important to mention. Cutter had left his mark on his son in a number of ways.

That wasn't to say there wasn't a silver lining. With the withdrawal and movement of the single finger, Haytham used the knuckles of that very hand to rub the raised scars, intentionally twisting his finger to gain better access. He took the small moans and gasps as initiative to continue, nipping the strong jaw and inserting another finger, pressing in not quite slowly, but slower than he normally would. His target changed, as did his position.

A little more awkward, but it would fare better. He was grateful Connor angled his hips, Haytham moving to his knees, closer to Connor's hips. A large, calloused hand pumped, foreskin slick against the palm of his hand. Hooking fingers in what was almost unbearably tight heat, muscles clenched, body spasming as he rubbed the small gland within his son after a few small attempts. The look on his face said it all, Haytham a touch more reluctant as he pressed a third finger to the stretching opening.

This time he was slower, notably so. His own eyes struggled between staring at the lewd act of Connor's tense muscles stretching around the final digit and the look crossing Connor's face. He settled for the look instead, far from disappointed.

He offered an almost wordless apology as his hand left Connor's cock to touch his own, a small moan leaving him as he watched his son's face contort with a small turn of his wrist. Spasming heat, all enveloping and deliciously decadent. Haytham tightened his grip on himself, reluctantly letting go to grab the bottle again, using his teeth to pop the cap and coat himself, a full fledged groan leaving him as he jerked himself to the sight of Connor against his sheets. Dark skin stood out wonderfully, his hair flowing over his pillows, sweat on his brow. A captivating sight, one Haytham found himself licking his lips to, fingers still hooked and motioning inside his son.

"At your ready."

-=-=-=-

 _Relax. Relax._ That's what he kept telling himself as Haytham's hand disappeared between his legs. Even so, he couldn't stop the small jump as the pad of one of his fingers lightly pushed against his entrance, stroking once, twice before slowly pushing inside.

He gasped and tensed immediately, his hands grabbing the sheets in a tight grip. It didn't hurt, but his muscles were squeezing around the digit trying to force it out, remembering the last time something had entered there. He had torn bad enough he had needed stitches once he had gotten to the hospital, because they hadn't exactly bothered with proper medical attention in the Pits and had left him sitting with a torn up ass for nearly a week, resulting in a fairly bad infection. As if the STD Cutter had given him hadn't been enough.

No, Connor considered himself very fortunate that he had healed without any lasting physical damage.

So far, one finger was easy to handle. He made sure to keep his breathing slow and even as it slipped in and out of him with ease with the help of the oil, and began rolling his hips onto it after a while.

He couldn't quite stop the small whimper when he felt the press of a second finger, but again there was little to no discomfort, and whatever discomfort he did feel was quickly chased away when they brushed against his prostate; his hips bucked and Connor gasped loudly, gulping in air. Oh god, that! He had missed that!

His legs spread wider, splayed out on either side of Haytham's hips, and this time Connor moaned as his fingers rubbed over the gland again, sending white hot sparks of pleasure up his spine. His back arched, pushing his hips further down on the fingers and Connor's hand shot up to cover his own mouth, muffling his heavy breathing.

With the third finger came a wince, but it wasn't nearly as bad as he expected it to be. His body was no longer trying to push his fingers out. Connor's eyes were closed, brows furrowed in concentration as a bead of sweat dribbled down his flushed face. His hips rolled, his back arched, his chest heaved and his legs tightened around Haytham.

Gods he had missed this so much...

It took him a few seconds to respond to his father's words, and even longer to realize that he was working his other hand over his cock, slicking himself up for penetration. Connor swallowed thickly and slowly removed his hand from his mouth, tightening his fingers into the pillow.

"How... how do you want me...?"

-=-=-=-

Those breathless words, going straight to his cock as images of Connor over the table, over his desk, on his bed, between his legs... they danced in front of his eyes, taunting him. But no. He kept his libido in check, forcing visions of brutally having Connor repeatedly against the wall away. Not yet. Perhaps someday, perhaps sooner than expected, but not yet.

With the illusions vanquished, Haytham pondered a position, one that would offer familiarity, comfort. Something to relax the boy, and certainly nothing with him on his stomach.

It came to him then, watching Connor writhe along the blankets. Reluctantly, fingers pulled themselves from his body, Haytham laying right beside him.

He couldn't prevent the upward twitch of his lips, nor the expansion of his smile if he tried. "If my little spoon would be so kind as to do what his name suggests, I can fulfill my promise regarding said orgasm."

Large hands splayed over Connor's body, touching, rubbing, memorizing the few new scars across Connor's naked, heated flesh. It came to rest, with the entirety of his arm, around Connor's chest, in a motion akin to their sleeping position. Offering a peck to the back of his neck, and several to follow peppered about his shoulders, Haytham griped himself with one hand, nuzzling the love bites he left along the junction of shoulder and neck. At least a dozen or so marked Connor as his.

Good. The way it should be.

Cock brushing a scar or two, the head pressed against the stretched, slick rectum. He didn't imagine the lad's pulse speeding up, nor the way his fists clenched the sheets. The arm around his chest reached forward, tapping his arm and spreading his fingers apart, taking them between his own before returning to his position. 

He offered a squeeze and another nuzzle, whispering. "Relax, lad." A small push and he began to sheath himself, Haytham's jaw slackening at what was warmth, pressure, pleasure- how he managed to stop just after the head entered him was almost beyond him.

It took a lot not to thrust forward. Thighs trembled under the intense pleasure, but he stayed put, slipping in only as Connor began to relax. Muscles spasmed, Haytham squeezing his hand and peppering kisses about his neck, stopping again when he was half sheathed and waiting, panting.

"L-Lad, you alright?"

-=-=-=-

Do as his name sugges- oh. Aaaah.

The corner of his lips quirked up and Connor nodded, turning himself around on his side. He felt Haytham settled down behind him, fingers gliding over his skin until his arm draped over his chest in much the same way it did when they went to bed. It was a familiar position and it definitely helped to relax him for what was coming up next.

Haytham had been gentle with him so far, and Connor had no reason to believe he wouldn't continue to do so after he had made it clear he wasn't ready for their usual pace and way of playing... his father wasn't the most patient of men though. What if he got fed up with going slow, dealing with his whiny requests?

 _Have a little faith in your dad, Connor._ he mentally berated himself and slowly breathed out, closing his eyes as he felt the first nudge of a cock head against his stretched entrance. Fingers laced between his hand and held tight, a comforting gesture as he felt a small nuzzle against the back of his neck and the whispered words to relax. 

It took everything he had, all his willpower, not to tense up again as it began to slowly press forward, muscles widening around it.

Burying his face into the pillow Connor grit his teeth, the hold on Haytham's hand turning into a death grip. He had expected this; despite the thorough preparation and the slick oil, the fact remained that his father was simply bigger than three fingers, and could reach far deeper. Not that it was truly painful, but there was definitely a burn involved.

Connor didn't realize he had been holding his breath until his father spoke up again, asking him if he was alright, and his breath escaped with a shuddering gasp. His thighs were trembling and the muscles of his rectum spasmed and clenched, but it wasn't _that_ bad.

It was mostly his mind trying to conjure up unwanted memories that made this more difficult to handle than it truly was.

A few deep breaths and Connor nodded after getting his body to relax enough to ease the tight hold it had on Haytham. "Y-yeah... keep going..."

A few seconds, and he felt Haytham move again; Connor bit down on the pillow and his free hand grabbed the arm around him, holding fast. It helped that they were in a familiar bed, in a familiar room and in a familiar position, with his father leaving all kinds of tiny kisses and nips along his shoulders and neck; finally he felt Haytham's hips press against him, stilling, letting him know that he was in as deep as he could go.

Full, he felt incredibly full, but it wasn't unpleasant. Waiting for his body to adjust Connor pulled one of his legs up and planted his foot against the bed, creating more room, and groaned as the movement caused his hips to shift a little.

"M-move."

-=-=-=-

It wasn't long, Haytham moving only after Connor responded, pushing through the spasming heat as velvety muscles pulled him in further. Enticing, alluring- nips, kisses, sucks- all was a blur of pleasure and skin, hips stilling only as they tapped the cleft of Connor's ass. He bit back the moan as the lad shifted, waiting.

"M-move."

He needn't be told twice.

Grabbing Connor's leg to change the angle would have been ideal, but Haytham much preferred their entwined hands, the steady, if not slightly rapid beat of his heart felt against his chest and arm. Let the angle be a touch awkward, his thrusts could remain slow.

They had all night.

Retreating from the muscles the grip him remained borderline painful, as was his hesitancy slipping in. A slower pace, Haytham remained intent on letting Connor adjust yet again. Small spasms continuously pulled him farther in, and grey eyes shut. So often had he rushed through pleasure, but in his attempt to slow, the tantalizing allure of Connor's body seemed much more evident.

Small, breathless noises. The slight creak of the bed as he continued a slower pace. The slight noise the oil provided, skin on skin gliding, Haytham could only wish his second arm wasn't left practically useless; he shifted, ignoring the pins and needles it felt under Connor's weight. Instead he toyed with what was in reach; a nipple, soft skin, a small scar. His other arm would leave soon to hold that hip and fuck him in place, he'd no doubt.

The key was to make Connor want it. It's what made him rotate his hips fully sheathed, what created the urge to tease. A few deep, long thrusts and he located his prostate, but he'd graze it, barely. Just barely. Enough to feel muscles clench and to pull a noise into the otherwise silent room.

He'd have Connor _craving_ his touch by the nights end, no fear evoked.

And he teased onward, another hickey left on the back of a tan neck. Slow and steady, until otherwise directed.

-=-=-=-

It was slow, very slow, but Connor was more than fine with that. His eyes remained close, breathing in as Haytham pulled out, keeping it even with his thrusts.

So different from their usual times; they weren't even really thrusts; Haytham was rotating his hips, staying deeply sheathed inside his body but touching all the right places nonetheless. The first light graze over his prostate had him rock his hips back against him as fingers pinched one of his nipples.

Usually Haytham had him screaming before long, but now the pace remained slow enough Connor stuck to choked groans and soft cries, muffling them into the pillow.

He knew what his father was doing... teasing him with light touches and strokes, a hint of what he could have, but wasn't getting yet. It was a smart move really, helping him focus on getting what he liked and wanted. It worked; he was getting restless, his moans growing, while remaining soft and quiet, more desperate and the way he was trying to rock his hips down against him grew more frantic.

"Dad..." he hissed as he shifted his leg again, trying to create a better way for himself to push back against his father. His free hand clawed into the sheets, pulling at the fabric as his back arched. He liked the slow pace, but Haytham was only _grazing_ his prostate and it was not enough!

"I'm not... made of porcelain... you c-can go harder..." Not faster. _Harder._

-=-=-=-

Mm. Trust Connor to play into his hand.

It would be a lie to say his responsiveness didn't cause him to smirk. Lips continued to twitch, his voice holding a coy quality that suggested otherwise. "Lad, I dare say we keep this at a level..." Hips rolled, teasing, Haytham himself barely resisting the urge to slam forward. "Slow..." An elongated pull, the head of his cock almost slipping from the warm confines of his son, the thrust back in quicker but no more satisfying as he was sure.

"Softer, pace, yes?" Tongue tracing the shell of Connor's ear, Haytham could practically feel him grow aggravated. A cheeky rub to back of his neck, and he was deep within him again, own cock twitching.

Someone had to maintain control, after all.

The grin stretching over his lips was anything but sweet. "Now, now, there's no rush to be had." Languid and slow, it was a struggle to keep his voice so maintained, but alas he did his best. It was only now that he loosened the grip around Connor's hand, free arm extending lower, trailing past his navel to trace the sensitive foreskin of his cock, delightedly moist with pre-cum. Licking his lips, Haytham offered a breathy kiss as he gave Connor's sac a firm squeeze before turning to his cock again, fist enclosing and pumping almost timidly, leisurely.

"Don't you want to savor the moment, lad?" The chuckle was impossible to miss.

-=-=-=-

Goddammit dad! Not softer, nor did he want to rush this. Wasn't that obvious? 

The hand on his cock had his voice hitch in his throat though, unable to make his wishes known to his father. His free hand reached back, fingers clutching his father's hips as his grip tightened on his hand. He was stuck wanting to push into his father's fist, or to rock back onto his cock.

His fingers were doing wonderful things to his erection, a thumb teasing the slit and smearing the pre-cum around as it occasionally trailed down again to cup and squeeze his balls.

But Haytham's cock, a hot, heavy weight deep inside his body, sliding along sensitive walls and grazing that one spot that caused him to see stars each and every time, was what he really tried to focus on.

"I said _harder."_ he wheezed as his nails dug into Haytham's hip, clutching tight as he tried to meet his movements. "Not f-faster. Slow is fine. But-" Oh god yes, that right there! Another graze! His cock jumped in his father's palm, dribbling more pre cum over his fingers as Connor groaned into the fabric of the pillow.

"T-the angle..." he whimpered. They just had to change the angle a little, and if he would just... Thrust. A. Little. Bit. Harder!

"Please dad..." Saying please had worked before. And if Haytham still insisted on teasing after that, he could always take advantage of his father's daddy kink. 

-=-=-=-

Mm. Whispering, whimpering, pleas and his favorite word. The legality of his enjoyment was almost in question.

He could and should hold out for longer. Perhaps stress the desire to hear a soft beg. The soft moans he'd manage to pull- as it were- were among the most symphonic of noises. He'd never admit proclaim it openly, but those noise sent a tremor of lust surging through him like nothing else.

It could have been such that tempted his movement. Credit could be given to a softened resolve. At any rate, his hand left Connor's cock if only to lift his leg, hips angled and at the ready.

A single kiss was placed on his shoulder before he thrust, a full, long, harder thrust that unintentionally moved Connor across the cotton sheets. In his attempts to be gentle, he made his own desires known all the more, eagerly awaiting the turn to be released.

Though from the sounds Connor made, he didn't seem to mind.

Another powerful thrust, and then another. Repetitive but less rapid than usual, Haytham could feel muscle spasm and stretch, accommodating to the change. All the while he kissed, sucked and bit with more ferocity, nails digging into Connor's inner thigh as he dug his teeth into Connor's neck, marking him again and again.

Letting passion take hold of him had never been so easy.

-=-=-=-

Connor whimpered as the hand left his cock and he almost reached down to grab it himself - he stopped himself just in time and clenched his fingers deeper into the sheets, still holding a tight grip on Haytham's hand with the other as his leg was lifted to create more room, hips angling until-

His loud cry was muffled into the pillow as the head of Haytham's cock not just grazed his prostate but bumped right into it.

Connor could do nothing but lay back and let it happen, groaning and yelping into the pillow as each thrust forced him forward over the sheets. The pace was still slow, but the thrusts were hard and deep, with perfect accuracy. The painful sting of nails digging into his thigh, of teeth breaking the skin of his shoulder mixed with the raw pleasure from his thrusts; before long Connor was reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess, his cries mingling with the soft whispers of "dad" and "please". All he could do was hold on for dear life as the building pressure in his gut drifted lower, indicating that he was near.

"C-close!" It was all he managed to gasp out as another hard roll of Haytham's hips had Connor arch his back and cry out his pleasure, the sheets sticking to his sweaty skin.

A little bit, that was all he needed!

-=-=-=-

Air thick with constant pleasured noises, Haytham grit his teeth, continuing the pace he set forth. The constant, slick noise of flesh on flesh only fueled desires, a state of lust washing over him in deep, long waves. He hadn't felt pleasure this strong in quite sometime... he couldn't remember how long but damned if this wasn't the experience he'd wanted...

He felt him tightening before he said a damned word, though the breathless omission spurred on more movement. He hadn't expected it to be followed with a long, sudden tensing of muscles, Connor shaking and mumbling through what Haytham realized to be his orgasm.

He stilled, unsure if continuing would be beneficial, given the circumstances...

He decided against it, pulling out slowly in favor of gripping himself tightly. With a minor adjustment his face was buried in Connor's hair as he rutted shamelessly, sweat trickling from his temple as he relinquished hold of his thigh, only to snake his arm around him once more, tightening his grip as he inhaled what was the scent of Connor's hair. He'd missed that smell all those weeks, on his pillow, his sheets, occasionally on the material of his clothing depending on how long they spent near each other.

He came with a shuddering gasp, painting white streaks across the tan buttocks before him, the jarring comparison almost too much. The arm that Connor lay on was practically asleep, sensation barely returning to his fingertips and he came down from quite the euphoric high, breath huffing unevenly.

Sluggishly, he moved again, his forehead pressed to Connor's thoroughly marked shoulder. The lad would resemble a leopard in the morning, some marks already raised and inflamed.

"... So...." Shaking his hand again, he squeezed when he found it. "... was it good for you?" The satiated smirk he wore could be felt through his words. There wasn't a real question. He _knew_ it had been good.

-=-=-=-

His orgasm left him completely limp, sated and boneless. As such, he did not complain when Haytham pulled out of him, even though he hadn't come yet. It didn't take long before he felt the hot splatter of seed against his buttocks, the grip around him tightening as Haytham quietly groaned and panted against the back of his neck.

Slowly, all the aches that came with sex returned; the throb in his ass, the sting of all the love bites Haytham had left behind and where he had gripped him tightly. But they were aches Connor didn't mind; he pushed himself up with a grunt, realizing he had been laying with all his weight on his father's arm, and slowly turned onto his side to face him.

He looked at him with a satisfied, sated glaze in his eyes and nodded. "Yeah... it was good." He shifted a bit closer, grimacing as the drying, cooling semen that covered his butt clung to his skin and flaked with the movement. "How did you like going slow for once?" As boring and tedious as he had expected, or had he really enjoyed it as well?

"Also... thanks..." This had been another step in the right direction on the road of recovery. Perhaps he'd be able to sleep easier now.

-=-=-=-

Good? Ah, it was better than that. He would have insisted such if not for the peaceful glimmer in his eyes for a change. Mm. Perhaps he wouldn't have to bare a mural of bruises from the constant gymnastics the lad continuously accomplished mid-horrid dream.

A night of full rest was reward enough, although he ventured an eyebrow raise. He tucked black hair away from the smooth contour of a high cheekbone, almost shrugging.

"Thanking a person for coitus? That's a new one. But you're welcome, no less." He understood, really. An attempt to keep the conversation light and nothing more. He added, with the smallest of grins. "Should you ever need reminder of what you learned today, feel free to ask." If only all his problems could be solved in such a way. Granted he was sure the rape would bother Connor from time to time, but this was a very large step.

And it left him with one last question. "... it was different. Not something I'd do every time but perhaps something to revisit on occasion." Truth be told it was damned good but like hell if he'd say that. He'd his pride, after all.

And he did prefer his old methods, though he'd hardly complain. He hadn't quite realized how pleasantly appropriate Connor looked, satiated and tired against his lighter sheets. They should bathe, the oil had made him slick in an almost uncomfortable way. Yet he remained, grabbing what would be a sheet half draped over the bed and slipping it around them. He himself hadn't slept last night...

"Let's call it an afternoon." Connor seemed tired enough, Haytham surprising himself a little as he moved to curl himself by his side, tossing a leg over his own. He nodded off within moments, a more peaceful rest overtaking him then in some time.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return of the snark.
> 
> I don't know when chapter 15 will be up. We're still writing the Mad King Kenway thing but I think that in a few days we'll go back to focusing on Vindication. I'm starting to miss it already. Chapter 15 will either be a long one, or split in two chapters (because of Plot Point #3 and I think you guys will like it!)
> 
> For now, this chapter is a bit of a filler one, though it's still important to the plot. No warnings for this one.

No amount of preparation could truly aid this moment. Haytham's thumb stroked the name flashing on the screen of his phone, white letters spelling out the five little symbols that composed of it. They hadn't spoken in months, not since Connor insisted on their meeting in Cincinatti. He'd never thought he'd actually call him. The suggestion was a gesture out of niceties once programmed into him by his mother. And yet there was no other way. Malik needed to know. They both did.

He could barely believe three months ago marked his temporary retirement from his company, until Connor waltzed by him, unaware of his stares. An entirely different wardrobe needed to be purchased a second time. Shaking his head in borderline nostalgia, he could recall briefly how his own shirts used to sag on less broad shoulders, how the arms hung just a little low over fingers. The same height, Haytham was developed, matured in his aging and with that came the broader frame. And yet...

The buttons on the shirt Connor 'borrowed' from him screamed under the stretch, forcing him to pair it with an undershirt. The fruits of their labor, he supposed. A massive lad, and Haytham was certain he wasn't at his full potential yet, strapping and tall as he was. He was outgrowing him, rapidly.

He both reveled and frowned upon it, having created something perhaps better than he. Yet, he did in fact create such a powerful lad.

Of course with that came consequence. While Connor's anger had thankfully simmered away under the strain of training, their recent trip to Bali had not been good to him. And as it stood, he didn't know his own strength, giving Haytham a run for his money. Forcibly restraining someone larger than oneself was hardly easy, but it need be done at the time.

He didn't know what to expect when he'd found Cutter's location. The blundering Neanderthal, opening a false account and using a fake ID card. A paper trail, a traceable one- none that would alert international authorities but something reported to the local Indonesian authorities. Four hours of reading and mass quantities of money spent, and Haytham acquired a GIS software system used by the Department of Homeland Security to track the whereabouts. Hours of learning it, months of training, and they went to Bali to assess the situation.

Really, they went to Bali to give an end to the tragic tale. But, it was... an unexpected twist in events indeed.

In retrospect, it was something Silas would do given his mindset. Merchandise, that's what he'd lost; he was an investor who lost merchandise on a failed project and was looking to gain capital. Silas' conceptualization of humans as 'capital' boiled his blood but he knew it to be true. He hadn't truly made an impact with his entry. He'd stalled, created a raucous, but halt Silas and his functionability? No, he knew better to assume such.

It was simply that he'd moved faster, made more progress than expected. In the dead of night they'd infiltrated the perimeter in the jungle, and on the third night they found an old ruin of a temple with underground passages, a weaving maze of confusion. They followed it through, reaching the inner chambers just before dawn and having to turn back almost immediately, but in those few moments, it was evident. Beyond so.

Silas really had simply relocated and continued his business here.

More than enough to infuriate him, the tumultuous rage that was his son was almost beyond reckoning. He understood the plight, truly, but it was far too close to dwelling hours to conceive any attempt at rescue. The cages seen where horrid, many men in no condition to walk, let alone run through the caves and down trodden tunnels. They'd fled because they must, and while Haytham understood his son's hysterical state that they hadn't been able to help free the pit dogs that night, the bruises on his head received from his son's thrashing were less than appreciated. He still had lumps presently.

Of course he held no malice, with his misintentions. That and Connor's attempts at controlling himself had improved, as had his sociability. Nowhere near what he had once been, but he was calmer now, if only distant in a crowd of a few. It was acceptable enough.

It also lead him to believe Connor could handle this. Perhaps, the idea was foolish, yet he'd promised to report news. Granted his true intentions differed and the veil was thin at best, but he did what he had to. For them both.

-=-=-=-

Connor sat down on the couch opposite of his father, and watched, seeing the hesitation flit over his face as Haytham peered down at the screen of his phone.

He knew who Haytham was about to call. Malik and Altair, but mostly Malik. To keep his promise to let them know if they ever found something... a lead, a trail.

And boy, had they...

It had been his first time out of the States, but it hadn't been a fun trip. Definitely no vacation. Of course he had always had a hunch that Silas, the cunning business man that he was, wouldn't stop doing what he had been doing just because they had rolled up his organization in Brazil. No, he had simply continued, somewhere else on the globe.

Bali, Indonesia. That was where Silas - and Cutter - were holding up, hiding away in a old temple in the jungle. Not unreachable, but still far away from civilization. And the things he had seen there... Brazil had been bad, but _this..._

Just seeing those poor men, the pit dogs, locked away like animals... had it been up to him he would have jumped out of their hiding spot to help them. Silas and Cutter were in there _somewhere,_ and Connor wanted nothing more than to rip them apart with his bare hands.

It was the main reason behind his near constant desire to train and work-out. Not only did it help him keep his anger in check (far better then the therapy sessions with Mrs. Stillman did, which he had only continued to keep his father happy), it also gave him the confidence that this time, he'd be _ready._ No longer would he allow anyone to walk over him, and use him as they saw fit.

Yes, he had made improvements over the last three months. Hard to believe it had been that long, it didn't feel like three months to him. He was still no social bird, and he probably never would be again. He still did not tolerate touch from anyone he didn't trust or knew, but at least now he could keep himself from beating them straight into the hospital when they did reach from him.

The fear for the outside had diminished as well, as well as the fear for large crowds. He still didn't like it, but he could go outside again like he used to, without feeling the constant need to look over his shoulder. As for Myriam and Shaun, they had started to hang out again, and talk more. Not as much as before, and Connor still hadn't returned to school, but at least his friendship with them was on the road to recovery as well.

He was in no way 'healed'... but he was doing 'better'. The relationship with his father was slowly improving as well. They hadn't gotten into more fights since that day he had beaten up Bianca's boyfriend, and the sex was still good. With Haytham no longer the CEO of Kenway Corporations, he had more time and they could often be found sparring together, either at home or in the company's gym. Spending more time together that way definitely helped.

Even so...

They hadn't been able to get to Silas and Cutter. Too dangerous, too many guards... not as many as in Brazil but still too many for them to take on unprepared. He and Haytham had been insanely lucky to have gotten out of the temple without getting caught. In afterthought, it had been a dumb, risky move, but the information gathered had been worth it.

Silas' organization was much larger than expected, and this was something they couldn't fix on their own. For a short while they had contemplated on letting the government know what they had discovered in the jungle. Use the FBI like last time, send a SWAT team to the location. Unfortunately it was all too likely that it would end up like Brazil, with Cutter and Silas escaping, and the blame pinned on lesser men.

No... if they wanted to do this right, they had to take matters into their own hands, risky as it was. Make a good, solid plan.

That didn't change the fact that they needed help though. Someone who would understand their point of view, and agree with it. Someone who had _legitimate reasons_ to want to help out, to see Silas and Cutter stopped forever.

And that was where Malik and Altair fitted in.

They had only returned to New York two days ago, but Connor was anxious to make this next step. "Don't forget to put him on speaker. I want to hear what he has to say." he muttered from his place on the couch. It seemed that was the push his father needed to actually make the call, and with one press of a button Connor heard it dial.

It didn't take long for someone to pick up, and Connor recognized Malik's gruff voice instantly: _"Al-Sayf. What do you want?"_

-=-=-=-

Ah, a direct response he could appreciate. It made this so much easier.

"We've found your broth- ah, Kadar's murderers, the ones responsible for his mistreatment and unfortunate end in the pits." He practically heard crickets chirping, Connor's jaw slackening and brown eyes upon him as if he'd developed an extra head. Foolish lad, staring was rude-

 _"W-what?"_ The second voice wasn't as deep as Malik's but clipped, movement heard from over the speaker and conversing, back in forth, in what he assumed was Arabic. Hell if he understood it.

"I assume this is Altair, your voice is similar over the phone as in person. Quite the oddity-"

 _"No, no repeat what you just said!"_ Clicking the speaker button on, Haytham sat back with a small sigh, fingertips tapping the end of a steaming mug of tea. Almost condescendingly, he repeated the statement slowly. "We've found Kadar's murderers." He frowned, staring at the phone. "Honestly you didn't think the two Spaniards the government is pinning this on were responsible, did you? They hardly spoke English how would the procure English speaking men? Not to mention the sustained level of poverty..."

_"I-is this Haytham Kenway?"_

A befuddled stare and Haytham fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "... as opposed to the other person who knows the truth about your brother?" 

A pause, and he could almost feel the hostility through the phone, Altair almost growling. _"You wait all this time and that's how you present the news?!"_

He faltered, glaring. All this time...? Had he any idea how difficult a task that was?! "Malik said to call should I find anything. I'm calling. Now put him back on."

What Altair had begun to say was cut off, the gruffer voice returning with a bit more poise. _"It's fine, Altair."_ He did say to call, even if he hadn't expected the news to arrive in such a manner. _"You found them?"_ He remembered their names, how could he forget... _"Silas and Cutter? You know where they are?"_

"Indeed. Bali, Indonesia, located in a segregated temple jungle."

There was a pause again, and hesitation, Malik choosing his words speculatively. _"How?"_ How did he manage that? How could he be sure it was them? Hoe long ago did it occur?

Haytham choose a simple answer, inhaling the scent of a fine Earl Grey. "A long story, but we visited the location ourselves."

_"We?"_

"My son and myself, of course."

_"Ah."_

Another pause and Haytham took the phone, placing it in Connor's lap. He was no good at this sort of thing... "... the lad can fill you in on the details, he was there."

-=-=-=-

Connor nearly facepalmed. _Really?!_

And Haytham often accused _him_ of having no tact! What about the whole easing-Malik-into-it part, huh? 

Connor blinked and nearly pushed the phone from his lap - oh hell no, why did _he_ have to be the one to explain how they had found them? Fixing Haytham with a firm glare he picked up the phone and pulled his eyes away... oh this was awkward. The last time he had spoken to Malik he had been bawling his eyes out... there was no way this couldn't be awkward.

"Uh... hi."

 _"Connor."_ Malik answered. _"Spill."_

Huh, well so much for niceties. They must have caught Malik in a bad mood or something. "Well... uh... don't ask me how we found the temple, because that was all done with technical shit I know nothing about, but we snuck in. And... yeah, there weren't as many guards as in Brazil and... it was filthy and disgusting and horrid and..."

Argh, he wasn't doing a very good job at explaining, was he? "You know what, let me put my dad back on. He's better at explaining than I am, and seeing as he was there _as well."_ Smirking he handed the phone back to Haytham, ignoring Malik's frustrated sighs.

He leaned forward slightly, making sure he had his father's attention and mouthed slowly: 'I'll give you a blow job if you deal with this.' He nudged the phone into his father's direction one more, urging him to take it... There. Haytham wouldn't say no to that!

-=-=-=-

Well, way to make a blundering mess out of his well orchestrated performance, son. Haytham eyed him in amusement. Yeah, right Connor, he was bound to be on the receiving end of oral niceties after this bit of almost hilarious awkwardness.

If only to spare Malik the headache of nonsensical babble, he picked up the phone and mouthed, 'you better,' intending to complain until he did receive gratification of some sort.

"Apologies, he's fairly inept vocally." Ignoring the glare, Haytham continued, softly. "I'll be brief. Cutter made the error of identity theft, which left a paper trail and lead to his brief incarceration with local authorities. It was enough for me to find, and to then purchase what's called a GIS mapping system from the DHS. After much tinkering, I was able to map his location down to a ten mile buffer circumference zone using evacuation routes for the island. With this information, infiltration wasn't entirely difficult, if only cumbersome."

Malik responded far quicker than Altair, voice still gruff. _"Alright, if it was so simple to infiltrate why not apprehend them? I'm sure I would have heard something on the news by now."_

Ah, a fair question. One Haytham answered with a grin. "Because as it were, they are up to their old tricks again. Pits and all." He let it sink in a moment, fingering his mug once more. "Cages. Hundreds of them. By the time we left the maze it was practically dawn and most men- men like your brother-were incapable of movement." He added silkenly, terse. "And I'd not risk my son's life for such an endeavor." In case Altair felt the need to comment on his decision.

He'd never know if he did, Malik answering. _"No, of course not."_ Curiosity laced his voice with the next question. _"... I appreciate the alert, but you called for another reason, didn't you?"_

"Oh you're an intelligent one. Not used to your type." It was said almost jubilantly, Haytham's lips twitching. "I've heard you're quite skilled with geography and topography. While I do have technological skill I lack the experience to monitor from a distance. That and with such a massive number of hostages, and Altair being a soldier-"

 _"An ex soldier."_ It was said with a bite, Haytham gesturing grandly, accompanying an eye roll. 

"Yes yes, the point is your adequately trained to handle such an event, should everyone be eradicated."

 _"... eradicated?"_ It was practically a whisper, and Haytham nodded once. _"Your intention... is to free these men? By yourselves?"_

"No, not alone. With your aid."

Again silence, and he heard Altair stammer, something along the lines of 'lunatic'. Malik stayed silent for a few moments. _"... I'll get back to you within the week."_

_"Malik? It's impossible-"_

And he'd agree, normally. But between locating his son's whereabouts, tracking his brother's murderers down yet again, in a remote jungle, buying DHS software and learning it just to find them... Haytham really was serious about this. Malik couldn't make a decision on a whim, and neither could Altair. _"Within a week, I'll let you know."_

Another nod, and they hung up in unison, Haytham exhaling slowly with a shrug. He'd expected as much, to be frank. It didn't make it any easier to accept that they may be on their own, but he said what needed to be said and turned to Connor with a shrug. "Waiting is all we can do now, lad."

-=-=-=-

A week then.

Connor wasn't quite sure what to expect of it. What they were planning to do, what they were _asking_ of them, it could _not_ be taken lightly. This was so big, so risky... one small mistake and everyone of them could potentially face a life sentence in prison. Because yes, there would be death if they did this.

People would die, at their hands. There was simply no avoiding it. They could save the pit dogs and see as many of the people responsible arrested, but there would be casualties.

Considering Kadar's involvement, he and Haytham both felt that Malik - and Altair too for that matter - at least deserved the chance to join, to make a choice.

A choice Connor felt he didn't have. This was something he _had_ to do, risks be damned. He would see this through to the end, with Cutter and Silas either dead or behind bars, and after that Lee would follow.

Or die trying.

It was drastic, he knew that. Stupid even. But what else could he do? He couldn't pretend that Silas and Cutter weren't continuing their business elsewhere, and continue with his own life that way, nor could he rely on anyone else to properly finish the job for them. And the fact that Haytham wanted the same wasn't surprising; revenge was something he knew well, and he had promised Connor to make sure he too could get even some day.

The thing was... they stood a much better chance with four people instead of two.

At least Malik hadn't outright said no yet. In all honesty, Connor just didn't _know_ what they would say, whether they would agree. He simply couldn't make the guess.

"Do you think he will agree?" he asked after a moment, and his brown eyes flicked from the phone to look at Haytham's face. "He has reasons to say yes, but he has just as many reasons to say no." And if there was one thing that Connor hated, it was _waiting._

-=-=-=-

"Give it time, lad. It isn't a decision to be made hastily." Not when lives were on the line, at any rate. Their own in particular. Had Malik said yes immediately, he'd have thought him mad, or worse, stupid. Which would have also meant his intuition was incorrect.

He would not suffer the consequences of that again.

That wasn't to say he'd agree, far from it. He'd let Malik take his time, consider the consequences. Of course, a little encouragement never hurt.

Squeezing Connor's hand, Haytham stretched before standing, emptying the last of his tea. "I'll make sure to be very persuasive in the coming days." A pause, and Haytham stood directly in front of his son, lips twitching. "Now, about the promised felatio..."

~*~

Amber eyes narrowed the moment the phone hung up, a string of curses leaving scarred lips. "You can't be considering this." Not the Malik he'd grown to know, a man of caution and questions. "What does this rich lunatic expect us to do, hm? Quit our jobs and become full time bounty hunters?" 

A cat scurried away as Altair flung himself on the tattered couch. "And what if we're caught, hm? You think they wouldn't sentence us to death ourselves? Vigilante justice is for cartoons, comic books, made up characters-"

"It's better then no justice at all."

Eyes met, Altair's incredulous eyes widening. "You're considering _this?_ You are actually considering _this?!"_

A shoulder shrugged, the balled up sleeve shaking at the gesture, a long finger stroking the phone. "It has its place. Perhaps not a place for us, but a place worth considering."

"W-what about the projects you have... the therapy we've been to, the promises made-" His voice cut off, and he looked away. To forgive. They were tearing open an old _wound_ that had taken years to shut. Years of living up to his title as friend. They weren't healed, no, but at least the wound wasn't festering.

What would more death bring? Kadar... Kadar was gone...

Silently, Malik sat beside him, watching what were a myriad of emotions alter Altair's face, before averting his own gaze. "Where I go, you don't have to follow. We've no obligations toward one another, just..." A friendship? A bond over what was the loss of his young brother? The truth was, he'd blamed Altair for years and made him pay penance.

And the truth was, his brother hadn't died at Altair's hands. There was his arm but Kadar's death had been what forced his hand at a grudge. And the persons who were responsible for his death were to get away?

No. They'd pay the penance Altair was forced to endure, a thousand times over.

The silence remained between them, stretching until Altair moved at long last, if only to escape the suffocating tension in the room. Not accompanying Malik was not an option.

Even if their friendship was an obligatory one at that.

-=-=-=-

Hm, true that. Holding up his hand Connor quickly finished his mountain dew and set the can to the side as Haytham stopped in front of him. Right, blow job.

Standing up as well he allowed Haytham one second to see the smirk on his face before he grabbed his father by the hips and forcibly spun them both around, firmly planting Haytham on the couch. There were definite plus sides to all the training he was doing, and being able to manhandle his father around was one of them.

Pushing his legs apart Connor quickly kneeled down and licked a bold, wet stripe up over his groin, smirking up at his father. "So I did promise..."

~*~

Malik called back not even two days later, but not because he had made a decision. Something of this size, something this important, it couldn't be discussed over the phone.

They were coming, Altair and he, here to New York for a few days to talk it over face to face.

Connor and Haytham spent most of the day making sure that the apartment was clean (as it was mostly Connor's junk that littered the place). Soda cans, pizza boxes, piles of papers and more, it was either thrown or stored away, all the shelves dusted off and the floor vacuumed, the bathroom scrubbed and the refrigerator restocked..

Malik and Altair had originally planned to rent a hotel, but it was easier to just let them bunk over here, seeing as Connor didn't use his own bedroom anymore. There was enough space to cram a second bed in there, and if they questioned why he slept in the master bed with his father, they could always tell them it still helped with his nightmares (which had fortunately become somewhat of a rarity by now).

Connor paced around in front of the large window and glanced at the clock every few seconds. They could arrive any minute now and Connor couldn't push the nervous pangs away. So much depended on this, on them being able to convince them to join... plus he hadn't _seen_ them since...

He jumped as the bell rang. "I'll get it!" he called out before Haytham had even lowered his news paper, and leaped over the couch, ran into the hallway and yanked the door open.

There they stood, packed with traveling suitcases at their sides.

Malik nodded at him as Connor stepped aside to let them in, Altair following closely behind. They hadn't changed much... Altair wore the same hoodie he had worn the last time they had met, and Malik's face still seemed stuck in what seemed to be a permanent frown.

Closing the door Connor led them back into the living room and Altair shoved all the suitcases they had brought with them against the wall. It was then Connor's eyes fell on what seemed to be... pet carriers? "Uh..."

"I wasn't going to leave them behind." Malik answered, and Connor found the man eying him as he looked up. Shrugging off his coat he pushed it in Connor's hands and patted one of the carriers - these cats meant the world to him. Adopted from the pound, he had gotten them after Kadar's disappearance, to help him cope with the loss. Seeing as they weren't going to stay in a hotel that probably prohibited animals... well, and it wasn't like Haytham had really seemed to mind his cats when they were at his place. He'd rather bring them along instead of leaving them behind and let a friend take care of them.

"This is Paws." he opened the door of the first carrier. Connor leaned down to peer inside, locking eyes with a calico who didn't seem eager to come out yet. "And this is Socks." Malik continued and opened the second carrier. The same tabby that had jumped on Haytham's lap during their first meet in Ohio jumped out and cautiously began exploring the living room. All four of her legs were white, indeed making it look like she was wearing socks.

Connor blinked slowly and glanced at his father, trying to gauge his reaction - Malik hadn't _mentioned_ he was bringing his cats! Looking at all the stuff they had brought with them he nearly choked on a snort- was that a litter box?!

-=-=-=-

He heard more than saw Connor pass him, Haytham more interested in finishing his sudoku puzzle anyway. Two more numbers, column three... he ignored the short greetings, a small 'mm', made on his behalf. They had days to converse, and surely a few moments of relaxation would hardly make a difference. He'd a feeling he would need such, as the topic was a trying one...

He still didn't quite understand the circumstances of Kadar's supposed death. He did remember, however, Kadar's acceptance of Altair's blunder. It was safe to presume he had been thought to play a key roll, however accidental.

However manipulative it may be, he'd use that to his advantage if need be. This was larger than one man's angst ridden existence. The lives of many outweighed his need to repent.

Midway through thought, a weight, a light one but present none the less made itself known in his lap. Ruffling the pages one of his eyebrows rose, grey eyes peaking over his paper...

A tabby?

Indeed, paw out stretched and poking his paper, pleasantly situated in his lap as if he- or she- belonged there. Placing the paper aside, said cat purred loudly, rubbing against his chest immediately. He'd need lint rollers for sure. And to move his beloved potted plants...

Ah, a female. It became obvious once she rolled onto her back, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as he playfully took a page of the paper and tapped her nose, outstretched paws reaching for it. Right then.

"The other one?" He picked her up easily, placing her down and allowing her to explore the rest of the apartment. A point to the carrier said it all. And yippee, a litter box.

"That goes in your bathroom." And the potted plants to his own room for sure. He'd play 'nice' host- he hadn't had a pet in sometime anyhow.

"Well, to the tour then." He let Altair carry the bags, uninterested in helping all that much, instead walking them through Connor's old bedroom-now-questroom and connected bathroom. The living room and 70' plasma television spoke for themselves. Altair was the first to begin, clearing his throat. "About all of this-"

"A discussion for another time." Haytham waved it off, much to Altair's obvious disapproval and Malik's... well, nothing. His grimace remained as he observed cautiously. "Over dinner, it'll be an hour or two."

Flustered, Altair dropped the bags, the clatter loud enough to startle the more cautious of the two cats. "Don't dismiss me."

"Altair-"

"I wasn't being dismissive. I was suggesting you bathe or read or perhaps pop a proverbial 'chill pill'." That got him an eyebrow raise from Malik, Haytham's voice as neutral as ever. "You're staying for sometime, no sense in rushing a delicate conversation."

Stroking the tabby, Malik walked passed Altair and to the bathroom. "Towels?"

"Under the sink, there's two."

"Mm." He shut the door without further dialogue, and with that Haytham departed to the sound of the shower running, under a rather irritated amber gaze. He walked past Connor, giving him a shoulder pat before calling for Socks, who scurried to him as he seated himself on the couch. Altair should behave more like Malik, he was so easy to get along with.

-=-=-=-

Right... well that was awkward.

Connor watched his father leave, leaving him alone with Altair, who looked far from happy. Great, thanks dad.

"So..." Shifting on his feet Connor glanced at the other man, unable to completely hide his curiosity. "First time to New York?" 

Altair just glanced at him and reached into his pocket. "No." And he left it at that, opening a packet of Marlboro and taking out one cigarette. "Do you mind?"

"Not inside, but we have a balcony."

"Fair enough." And with that Altair promptly turned around without even asking where said balcony was. Connor frowned; really, nice guy! Not.

He followed after him, Altair already having located the double doors in the living room leading onto the balcony. Connor entered just as he lit up his cigarette and stuffed his lighter back into his pocket, inhaling deeply and blowing out the smoke as he leaned on the rail.

Jesus, wasn't he hot in that hoodie? It was summer! "Do you... need anything?" he asked as Altair gave him a calculated look before he slowly nodded. 

"Could do with a beer if you have it."

Connor nodded and turned on his heel after telling him that he would be right back, and Altair watched him go. Hard to believe that this was the same kid that had sat crying, bawling and shaking on his couch three months ago, or however long that had been. There was a confidence in his step now that he hadn't had before, though the look in his eyes hadn't changed. That, and he remembered the kid to be... thinner. Or at least less broad.

Connor returned a minute later with a cold can of beer, which he accepted with a small mutter of thanks. He wasn't in the mood to talk. Malik had been the one to insist on coming here to talk with Kenway personally. Altair still couldn't believe that he was even considering doing this! Their days in the military were over, and going on what he felt would be a suicide mission would not bring Kadar back!

Funny... it used to be him who was reckless, and Malik trying to convince him otherwise.

He remained silent, enjoying his beer and cigarette as he waited for Malik to finish in the bathroom so he could take a shower as well. He did not notice Connor leave again, who knelt down in front of one of the pet carriers; while Socks was already acting like she had lived here all her life, Paws still hadn't made a move to leave the safety of the carrier. Poor kitty... maybe he could coax her out.

-=-=-=-

He wasn't eavesdropping, far from it. He merely had a right to know what Altair was doing on his balcony with his son.

Ah, smoking. Wonderful. Let his son contact the one opponent he battled the majority of his life though second hand means. Yes Altair, kill his son with your reckless desire to die.

Ugh, it was of little consequence for the time being. His interests lay elsewhere, Haytham patiently biding his time with Socks, scratching her stomach and playfully using a dying branch as a toy and swatting her nose. He heard how the shower turned off and not even a minute later, Malik left the bathroom. Huh, Malik sure was quick. Connor always took his damn sweet time, using up all the hot water time and time again. 

"Odd. She's usually not that fond of strangers." Malik sat down on the couch opposite of him and ran his fingers through his short, damp hair.

"That makes two of us."

Lips twitched, dark eyes glancing around and spotting Altair and Connor on the balconey. Ah, smoking, of course. A predictable habit.

"... It makes three of us." Malik said with hesitancy, slight in his observations, with minimal motion or movement. A silent observer, and a man of few words.

It would have been polite, he supposed, to offer beverage or food. Perhaps ask about his travels, if he was tired and the like. Hospitality had it's place...

... in hotels. "Altair is quite pleasant." he mumbled and Malik snorted.

"He's an immature dolt who constantly nagged me the entire journey and will, undoubtedly, continue to do so until we leave." A brief pause, and eyes darted to look at said dolt, speculatively. "He has my best interests at heart. They just have a tendency of being incorrect."

Ah. It explained everything and almost nothing simultaneously. He couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, brought these two together.

Or perhaps it was the same as himself and Connor at first. In a way, bound by the fondness of another.

Again, information to store, to ponder upon further as Malik's brows furrowed, the grimace once again returning to his face. "Where's Paws?"

"Crate."

Haytham watched him observe Connor, who still sat in front of the carrier holding Paws, and his lips twitched. If he said yes... well, he wouldn't be so bad to work beside. Now to work on Altair's disposition.

He complained of them being there... he wasn't a willing participant. Part of the problem was that in itself, the other simply revolved around why.

-=-=-=-

It took patience and gently words to coax Paws out of the carrier. Connor maintained eye contact with her, blinking slowly. It was something he had seen on Animal Planet, apparently that was a way of showing a scared cat that he could be trusted. He allowed her to sniff his hand, and in return she allowed him to pat her head until, finally, he could pull her out and pick her up. She remained a little tense in his arms but she did not struggle.

"We should get a cat." he said as he sat down on the couch next to Malik; Paws jumped off his lap and finally began exploring the apartment. He could feel Malik's eyes on him and he resisted the urge to look up. It was so hard to read him, Connor had no idea what he was thinking, his opinion on him. Even though he had been just as much as a victim as Kadar, it changed nothing about the fact that he had delivered the final blow that had killed him. Kadar's blood was on his hands and always would be. It was entirely possible that Malik hated his mere existence for that reason, and he just didn't show it.

His eyes flickered to Haytham and Connor shifted, plucking at a pillow; he was getting restless again, he could feel it. Usually when he did he would find something to distract himself with... workouts, or practicing with one of his mom's old tomahawks. He was getting pretty good with those. It was entirely too bad that he had no room here to take his recurve bow and shoot some arrows. That always helped him relax.

The thing was he didn't know how to act around Malik and Altair, how to behave.

"So you're still in school, or what?"

He did not look up to answer Malik's question, and instead just shrugged with his shoulders. "No. I... kinda quit." That still wasn't official, he and Haytham hadn't really talked about it again after the incident with Bianca's boyfriend but it seemed more than likely that he wouldn't be returning anytime soon, if ever. What time did he have for school as long as Silas, Cutter and Lee were still on the run?

Sudden noise and muffled cursing coming from the bathroom indicated that Altair was done with his shower as well, meaning they could finally start discussing the really important things soon. Biting his lip Connor looked at his father again and forced himself to stop fidgeting. "What's for dinner?"

-=-=-=-

As amusing as it was to watch Connor squirm about nervously, he too would like the discussion to begin. As for the statement...

"Gnocchi and with alfredo and blackened chicken, no gnocchi is not something strange, it's a type of pasta and no, I will not make another pasta for you. I want gnocchi, you can watch me make it if you must." He did however, hesitate, placing Socks down before thinking. "... take care of these two well and I'll consider it." An animal may actually do Connor some good in his road to recovery.

He'd normally never suggest Connor particpate in any kitchen endeavor, but he offered if only to keep the lad calmer. It didn't take long to make, within the hour the gnocchi was fished from its pot and added to a pan, alfredo ready and chicken resting before being cut. And of course, alcohol- in abundance- to go with what would indubitably be a fascinating meal.

He barely set the plates down before it started, Haytham grabbing a white wine and a few beers from the fridge, trying to remain neutral as Altair grunted, pushing his plate away.

"Let's get this over with." A finger traced his pack of cigarettes, tapping impatiently. "What exactly are you planning and why is it including us?"

A look at Connor, and it was clear he'd be answering that. Very well.

"To destroy the new 'pit' Silas created and to apprehend them both, dead or alive." He shrugged, sipping his wine and adding. "Preferably dead, they've always been up to no good."

A scoff and Altair frowned, leaning back in his chair until it lifted onto two legs. Hooking his foot around the leg of the chair, he stared at the ceiling, amber eyes narrowed as he rocked to and fro. "If it's so simple why do you need us?"

"I never said it was simple, but rather what I desire is simple." He wasn't one for insolence, especially not purposeful insolence. "There's a new den already fully operational and constructed, with numerous guards and hundreds of potential victims." Swirling his glass, he sipped his wine before beginning to eat, shrugging. "Two ex soldiers with such feelings invested in the situation, it only seemed reasonable to at least inquire for assistance. Our odds of victory would certainly increase, and I'm sure the cause is worthy of your attention."

Altair scoffed, about to add something before Malik cut him off. "Wouldn't there be an issue of hindrance?"

"Not to mention weaponry, the law getting caught-"

"He has money, Altair, any buffoon can obtain weapons-"

"And that just leaves the law, or are rules now made to be broken when seen fit?"

Dark eyes narrowed, Malik's gruff voice clipped. "You're the expert on that topic, you tell _me."_

Silence, and Altair averted his gaze completely, a string of curses leaving his mouth. Malik's jaw remained clenched but he eyed Haytham again, who offered nothing but a mask of neutrality. "Hindrance." He regrettably gestured to his arm, almost eying the lack with hatred. "Not much I can provide."

"You couldn't be more incorrect in your assumptions. Your potential position would be the most important requirement."

He could see the curiosity and elaborated, with some interest. "Topographical mapping, geographical mapping, data- I need blue print, schematics, evacuation routes and transportation gateways, surveillance of areas- and I have the methods in which to obtain them via software. Just no one near as technologically inclined nor- and take no offense to this, Connor- intellectually inclined." He offered Connor a pat on the hand, explaining to him as well. "It takes months to learn, I speak from experience, and I'm, well, me."

Altair snorted, eyes rolling. "Modest much?"

"No, nor have I reason to be. I've created a corporation single handedly by my thirtieth birthday. We were an international Empire, one I took charge of. I've no need to be modest, I am quite aware of how great that is. Just as I am everyday reminded of the costs." His eyes flickered to Connor, before he cleared his throat, finishing his wine and reaching for the bottle, pouring another. "Any other questions?"

-=-=-=-

Connor tried not to get involved yet as he poked his chicken with his fork, a frown on his face as Altair tried to counter every argument Haytham offered. Of course they hadn't expected him to jump up and down in excitement to join, but at least listen to what they had to say!

He couldn't help but glance at Malik's empty sleeve again... so his hunch was right. Altair _was_ somehow responsible for that. He sighed softly... it seemed that their main concern here was to convince Altair. Not that Malik had agreed to anything yet but at least he was listening.

"If this means breaking the law then so be it." he cut in, and all eyes turned to him, but Connor gaze remained fixed on Altair. "Haven't you seen the news? The government isn't doing _shit_ to stop them. They pinned what happened in Brazil on two lesser men, just to be done with it. They're not interested in spending money and manpower on hunting Silas down and stopping him for good. As long as it stays hidden, they couldn't care less."

His fork dropped with a clatter. "And while they're sitting there on their lazy asses, hundreds of men suffer through the worst abuse imaginable every single day. The same abuse Kadar has suffered for three years!" His chair nearly toppled over as Connor stood up abruptly and slammed his fists down on the table, ignoring how Malik had flinched at the mention of Kadar.

"I will _not_ sit back and let this happen. I am willing to break the law for this, I am willing to pick up a weapon and _use_ it if that is what it takes because no one else will, despite the risks! Kadar gave his life to save mine and to ensure that my father had enough time to get in and save as many people as possible. Kadar _knew!_ Right now, my dad and I are the only ones who know where Silas and Cutter are holed up. I will not let Kadar's sacrifice be for nothing and I would have thought that you, who knew him, would agree with me on that. I never would have taken you for a coward!"

It slowly dawned on him that he was clenching his hands into fists, and his breathing was harsh. Malik and Altair were both staring at him, the first with an unreadable expression, and the other with an angry gleam in his amber eyes. Taking a deep breath Connor straightened his chair and sat down again, rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

-=-=-=-

Well now. How... unexpectedly fitting.

It wasn't unmerited, simply that Connor has shied away from crowds- when not acting hostile to unwanted touches, that is- and given the rather intimidating nature Altair seemed to possess, Connor's aggressive but acceptable act of defense was... appreciated. Rather brave of the lad, even if it was his temper talking, there was something about him in a controlled fit of anger. It was rather dashing. Perhaps arousing even.

Well, something to dwell upon later. Haytham lay his hand over his knee from other the table, squeezing. He let the silence speak for itself, Malik the first to break it after some time.

"... you truly believe we can do this without detection? I don't fear imprisonment, but failure." He'd already failed to do so much. Devastated wasn't the word for it.

"He can't guarantee that." An angry whisper, and Altair had settled in his chair, snarl plastered across his face. "For all we know he'd place the blame on us."

It was a punch in the face, one that left Haytham in an actual state of shock as Altair turned what was his fury onto him. "Like you wouldn't do that if it came down to it. Face it, this about revenge for you and your son, you don't give one _fuck_ about Kadar." Malik flinched again, Haytham remaining silent, grip on Connor's leg increasing as more venom spewed from scarred lips. "To him Kadar was just a means to get his own son out of shit, nothing more. He'd make the same command again and would think nothing of it! "

Fists slammed against the table, Altair throwing his chair back with a clatter that frightened both cats. It was enough to make Malik stand, grimace tight across his face. "You hide behind this false pretense of revenge, like it will change what happened or better it. You have no idea what it's like to loose someone like this! Do you really think revenge will better anything?"

"Altair, stop!"

"Why the fuck should I?!"

"He lost his wife to these same people, you blithering idiot!"

Haytham twitched, saying nothing as Malik practically growled, hand gripping Altair's shoulder. Wine, yes. He went for it with a trembling hand, Malik continuing. "It was all over the papers, maybe not the same man but the same circumstance. To the man he started the company with. It's everywhere, practically common knowledge, is it any surprise he chose the life of his son over Kadar's?"

"Malik-"

"No! I won't hear anything else from you! If circumstances changed, if roles reversed we would have done the same. He was being a _father,_ protecting his own at all costs." He sagged visibly, settling against the chair with a thud. "... I would have done the same. I can't hold a grudge when I would have made the exact same decisions."

-=-=-=-

Haytham's squeezing hand on his leg was the _only_ thing that kept Connor from launching himself across the table and into Altair. How dare he assume... no, _accuse_ his father of only trying to lure them into saying yes so he could put the blame on them later?

Altair should consider himself lucky that Malik stood up to put him back in his place before he really lost his self control... Haytham wouldn't appreciate it if he attempted to beat their possible ally into a bloody smear.

"It was Cutter." he growled instead, keeping his eyes averted as he picked up his fork again, even though his appetite had long passed. "Lee orchestrated everything, but Cutter fired the shot that blew up the car and killed my mother. I caught Lee talking about this over the phone with Silas, that Cutter hadn't done his job right because I survived. Lee wanted me dead all along because he was of the opinion that I was getting in the way of my father's success, and that is why he hired Cutter for a second time to kidnap me. I know this for a fact because that is what Cutter _told_ me before he nearly beat me to death in front of an audience." Amongst other things.

Connor stabbed his fork into his chicken and looked up as he let those words sink in, glancing between Malik and Altair both. "Yes, this is also about revenge. About getting even. But this is also about doing the right thing, because no one else is willing to risk everything to see them put to a halt." Brown eyes locked with bright amber. "You only know bits and pieces, but the things I've seen during those two weeks in Brazil... I would have given up within the first few days if it hadn't been for Kadar. I will _not..._ ruin and dirty his sacrifice and memory by doing something as low putting the blame on his brother and friend once this is done, and neither will my father. Because _that_ would put us on _their_ level.

"We got in and out undetected once, so it's possible. The security there isn't as tight as it was in Brazil and we can catch them by surprise. We can get all the equipment we need, money is no issue here." Pushing his plate away Connor leaned back in his chair, tightly gripping the edge of the table with his fingers until his knuckles whitened. He wasn't the best at convincing people, Haytham was much better suited for that task, but he couldn't sit here and do nothing but listen to Altair giving arguments as to why they shouldn't do this. Because they should.

"We can do this... with proper planning and time to train to familiarize and get to know each other, we can get this done!" One thing was for certain though... whether Altair and Malik would join them or not in the end, Cutter would be _his_ to deal with.

-=-=-=-

Indeed. Everything Connor had said was factual, Haytham's hand traveling along the length of his leg in a gesture meant to comfort. And he couldn't help himself, genuinely impressed. "Well spoken." The genuine respect he held was almost tangible, a slight exhale escaping him as he relaxed just a bit. 

"Training will be arduous, mentally and physically so, but the results are impressive." Very impressive. He made sure his tone stayed neutral, with some difficulty. Honestly, he'd never been this excitable. It sparked something in him, Connor's physical and mental development. He quite liked it.

"Within a few short months we've accomplished this much as a duo. Who is to say development won't occur exponentially with more ideas, more minds at work? Direction is just as important as leadership as is cooperation. I've dedicated my life to organization, I will put forth the same effort to see everyone responsible pay suffrage for their crimes against my fiancé and children alike, as well as your brother and all others that suffered at their hands."

Malik remained silent, a slow nod, while Altair blinked, caught between a question and silence. His jaw shut with a click instead, remaining silent. 

Haytham continued, uninterrupted. "A lot to consider, and I don't expect an answer now. Think about it, go over it a few times. We'll go over details in the morning." For the time being, he wanted a moments peace. Preferably with his son.

"Leave the mess, I'll clean it. Feel free to do what you will." Removing himself, Haytham left the table and made towards his room, closing the door with a sigh.

Well, that was _fun._

-=-=-=-

Connor said nothing as Haytham stood up and left, hearing the door of the bedroom click a few seconds later. He sighed... well, so far for dinner. At least they had made their point... now it was up to Altair and Malik to think things over and make a decision. Couldn't expect them to do that tonight.

Standing up as well he began gathering their plates, trying to ignore the thick silence that had fallen over the room. He honestly didn't know what to say either.

"Do you need help?"

Connor blinked up at Malik, slightly surprised but then shook his head. "Oh, no thanks. This won't take long and we have a dish washer."

"Ah, of course." Might as well, they still had to unpack their stuff and put some food and water out for Socks and Paws. Malik scratched his shoulder; his scars always turned itchy when he was under stress was no exception. Connor disappeared into the kitchen carrying as much plates, glasses and cutlery as he could carry, carefully cleaning most of them off and putting them in the dishwasher.

When he returned Altair had already left, but from where he was standing he could see part of him through the open doors leading onto the balcony. Malik still sat seated at the dinner table, Socks in his lap. "I apologize for Altair's behavior. He's an idiot at times." he grumbled as he scratched behind her ear.

"Oh, it's... fine." Connor shrugged. "I can somewhat understand where he comes from. I know it's a big thing we're asking here."

"That it is."

Again silence, and Connor shifted on his feet, uncomfortable. Haytham was still in the bedroom... was he alright? "Hey um... I kinda have to go... talk to my dad so-"

"Where's your coffee maker?"

A blink, and Connor glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. Oh right, he should probably offer them coffee or something. "On the counter... do you want co-"

"I'll figure it out. Go talk to your dad."

Ah. "Thanks..." Sharply turning on his heel Connor quickly made his way over to the bedroom and rasped his knuckles on the door before opening it, sticking his head inside.

"Dad? Are you alright? Can I come in?"

-=-=-=-

He showered, briefly, hot spray soothing him however minutely. Pleasantries, he hadn't been expecting that, but Altair... Haytham wrung his hair out, toweling it slowly. So full of rage... It reminded him of himself, though he'd hardly been as old as Altair at the time. Still, he'd hardly been as obnoxious. Nor rude.

Though he hoped to have the ability to make one shudder with words alone. Ah, he knew he did. He'd managed to bring quite a few incompetent employees to their knees. Misted eyes and all, and he hadn't felt remorse.

Again, he hardly accused them of intentionally imprisoning anyone, let alone his own secrets aired in such a manner...

Or his own slip, saying children. Oh yes, he'd never live it down. So much for the ability to remain calm under stressing circumstances.

"Dad? Are you alright? Can I come in?"

"Mm." Pulling on a pair of sweat pants, he emerged from the connected bathroom, toweling his hair dry slowly. Padding into the bedroom, he gestured for Connor to come closer, sitting atop the comforter. He waited for the door to shut, gesturing for Connor to come sit by him, moving to the head of the bed.

He'd never been one for long talks about his feelings. Even in his attempts to be more honest with the lad, it was difficult to lay himself bare in such away. He hadn't the mental stamina for it currently, far too exhausted between training, searching, clamoring...

It was easier to wait for Connor to sit, and to take action from there.

His head lay in his son's lap in an instant, Haytham pulling one of Connor's hands and placing it on his head, hoping he'd take the hint.

"I don't suppose shoving Altair from the balcony is an option." He'd fantasize in the meantime, free hands rubbing up and down the length of strong legs. He remained silent for some time, whispering. "I'm proud of you, lad." He'd nothing more to say, simply shutting his eyes. It spoke volumes, or at least it should.

-=-=-=-

Stepping inside Connor closed the door with a soft click and eyed his father as he toweled his hair dry. Hmmmm shirtless... though this wasn't really the right moment to be thinking of his father in such a manner. They had guests over after all.

Instead he walked over to the bed and sat down when prompted, a look of surprise - and a bit of amusement - shifting over his face as Haytham promptly placed his head in his lap and guided his hand towards his hair. It was clear what he wanted him to do and Connor was all the happy to oblige.

"No it's not." he mused as he leaned back into the pillows and made himself comfortable. His fingers stroked through damp hair, fingering the strands and massaging his scalp. This was nice, just sitting here. It wasn't cuddling, and it wasn't sexual, but it was still intimate somehow, with Haytham using his lap as a pillow while stroking his legs. 

It was relaxing.

"Proud for what? I simply spoke my mind." It had been necessary. "I think that if we can convince Malik, Altair will follow. Altair seems to listen to him." Heh, that was bound to be amusing - and tedious - should they say yes, that meant he would have to spar with Altair as well, and trust him to have his back once they were out there in the danger zone. As things stood now, he wouldn't trust Altair with a ten foot pole.

-=-=-=-

Mm. Pleasant, the moment in it's entirety, Connor warm as can be beneath him, fingers carding through his, stroking his scalp, a relaxing gesture.

Hm? His eyes remained shut, though he continued to stroke Connor's legs. "I'm not explaining why I'm proud, just know I am." His reasonings were his own, and it was far from likely that that would ever change.

"I agree, though. Malik seems to be more susceptible to the idea." He shifted, leaning into the touch,, his own fingers beginning to slow. He voice held a groggy tone, but he continued, muscles relaxing into what was a rhythmic touch.

"It's imperative to have them both see the reasoning. Emotional investment is important, so long as it's not too jarring." As in, he didn't need a gaggle of men flying into a rage at the very sight of Cutter. He'd an inkling Connor could do as much on his own.

"They're both going to need to trust us, and vice versa before we even head to Bali. Going as strangers is certainly not an option, not with the insinuation Altair made." Whether it was said out of malice or he thought it to be true, the fact is they were going to be working together in close proximity, and as a team no less. Such interaction could get tiresome after some time, particularly in a small group of people one did not trust.

"... something we need work on..." His touch slowed further, Haytham content to relax for a change. So much training, working, tracking, learning, cooking and so little sleep. Or relaxation.

His breathing evened with a small huff, hand coming to rest on Connor's thigh. He heard something but ignored it, drifting further into a state of rest.

-=-=-=-

Hm, they could further discuss things in the morning, he supposed. Haytham seemed too tired for it now. Connor couldn't help but smile as he witnessed his father slowly drift off to sleep; it was cute... adorable even, though he made a mental note to never say that out loud.

But it really was, and Connor stayed like this, continuing to stroke greying hair and pat his head as Haytham snored softly, watching him sleep even long after his legs had fallen asleep as well.

He stayed like that for about an hour. He was careful not to wake Haytham as he gently wormed his legs away and put a pillow underneath his father's head before covering him a blanket, tugging in the sides. He pressed a quick kiss to his father's forehead, listening to him mumble, and clicked off the light, leaving the bedroom quietly.

He found Altair and Malik seated on the couch, each with a cat rolled up on their laps and the remote in Altair's hand. Altair ignored him as he sat down in Haytham's usual chair but Malik tore his eyes away from the screen. "Good talk?"

"Hm." Rubbing his face he slumped further down and stifled a yawn. "He's asleep. Ever since he temporarily quit the company he's been working on finding Silas non stop, that or he spends time sparring with me... I don't remember the last time he has gotten more than three hours of sleep." Connor ignored how Altair shifted and started zapping through the channels as Malik stood up. By the time Altair had settled on Cartoon Network he returned and pressed a mug of steaming coffee into his hands. Blinking in surprise he stared as Malik he flopped onto the couch again, Socks returning to his lap. "Don't look at me like that. You looked like you needed it."

"... thanks..."

"Hm."

Silence fell over them all, broken only by the purring of the cats and the noise coming from the TV. The coffee was nice; Malik hadn't asked what he liked in his coffee but it was close enough and he was happy to sit in the quietness for a while, until:

"Where do you sleep?" That was Altair asking, though he hadn't bothered to tear his eyes away from the screen. "We're taking your room, are we not? And I didn't notice a third bedroom. So where do you sleep?"

Uh... right, shit. Good question, and one he had hoped he'd never have to answer. He was so used to sharing a bed with his father that neither of them had stopped to think that it was pretty... abnormal. "Um... in the master bed." he muttered and this time Altair did look up, sharp amber eyes piercing right through him. It was uncomfortable, being stared at like that.

"With your _dad?_ You sleep in the same bed as your dad?"

"Yeah well..." He shrugged! "You sleep in my bed and... I didn't want to bunk on the couch, especially not if you're going to be here for a while." Ugh, lame answer, and Altair seemed to share his opinion.  
Malik was staring at him as well now, but the intensity in his eyes was different.

"Look, I don't have to explain this to you. This is simply how it is now, I can't help it either." Setting his coffee down Connor stood up. "I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow."

He still felt their eyes burning into his back as he turned and walked back to the master bedroom, quickly and quietly slipping inside and closing the door, wondering if it was ever possible to work together with those two.

-=-=-=-

Haytham didn't move, even against the body pressing against him, deep into the night. He himself awoke in what had to be the wee hours of the morning, a fairly typical event, Connor curled to his side. He remained still for sometime, only moving to eventually relieve himself, intent on settling down again.

Warm, almost inhumanly so. Comfortably so, even in the summer. Connor's face remained neutral in sleep, Haytham tracing the scar on his cheek. He seemed to be at peace. He finally removed himself reluctantly, placing a shirt on before padding into the kitchen, barefoot and yawning...

And staring at an amber pair of eyes. Well. What a pleasant surprise.

"Morning." He kept it to a nod and simple greeting, getting out the coffee maker and starting a pot. He could be neutral, so long as Altair wasn't a-

"Why do you two sleep in the same bed?"

-jackass.

He didn't turn around, simply. Picking his coffee of choice and placing the filter in the maker, Haytham spoke softly. "Why is it your concern, exactly?" They'd already agreed on what to say in the situation; Connors nightmares encouraged them to sleep together. It was simply the way Altair said it, had brought it up. Or this horrible attitude he'd acquired.

A shrug, and Altair eyed him closely, practically staring a hole in his head. "I'm just curious. Your son gave an answer."

"And you're trying to see if we're being honest?"

A nod, and Haytham listened to the percolator, a soft press against his shin making him look down. Socks rubbed against him softly, purring loudly.

"I'm sleeping with him, clearly." He ignored the choked noise, eyes straight ahead, fixated on the brew. "I enjoy the touch of my own blood, obviously. In my narcissism, I recognized my own resemblance and simply couldn't keep my hands to myself." Pouring three cups, he turned on his heel, looking into wide amber, lips twitching. "Sugar? Cream?"

Gold eyes never faltered, tapping the table. He fished a Marlboro from his pocket, placing the filter between his teeth. "Black, a lot of sugar." He'd take it to the balcony, a cigarette and coffee the only pleasure he took from his mornings.

He took the coffee Haytham placed on the table, standing. "If it's personal you could have just said that."

"I just did." He set the third cup aside for a moment, eying the unlit cigarette before patting the seat beside him. "One time, this one time only." He leaned back himself, sipping his own coffee. "We have some conversing to do, you and I." A lot of conversing... to perhaps, set things straight.

-=-=-=-

Connor woke up not long after Haytham had left; that was usually the case, when he no longer had the familiar contours of his father's body pressing against his own, no one to share body warmth with (not that they needed that in the summer, but still).

Opening his eyes he blinked slowly, staring at the indentation Haytham's head had left in the pillow. Reaching out Connor ran his fingers over the material; it wasn't entirely cold yet, but close. He wasn't really looking forward to getting up... no doubt there would be more discussion today, more arguments... more stares. He was really starting to hate how they kept staring. Why? He didn't look _weird,_ did he?

Grumbling under his breath Connor rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling before he kicked the covers off and stood up. He pulled on a simple tank top after splashing some water in his face to wake up and ran his fingers through his mohawk to make it look less like he had a horrible case of bed hair. He'd shower later... breakfast and coffee first, then some simple work outs and _then_ a shower.

Quietly opening the door he slipped out of the bedroom and took a quick peek into the living room, finding it empty save for Paws who lay curled up on a pillow. He could hear voices coming from the kitchen though... dad and... was that Altair?

Frowning Connor tip toed towards the kitchen, making sure to stay out of sight; he couldn't really ignore his curiosity and he knew it wasn't proper to eavesdrop, but perhaps dad would be able to... 'talk some sense' into Altair... better than he could anyway.

-=-=-=-

"Talk, huh?" An orange lighter flashed it's quick flame, Haytham grabbing a plastic cup and pushing it in front of Altair, A long inhale, and a puff of smoke followed, a skeptical stare as eyes searched him. "About what?"

Their working together of course. Altair huffed, sipping his coffee with what was the traces of a smirk. Yeah, the whole nice guy routine was a little late in the game if you asked him.

"What made you join the military?"

He faltered, blinking. Ashing his cigarette, he took another deep drag. "I dunno."

"I don't believe that for a second." Tapping the edge of his mug, Haytham eyed him, intently. "That's an important decision, risking your life for your country. Not something done on a whim."

Shrugging, Altair toyed with the mug handle. "... didn't have much going on." Not with his parents dead, anyway. Not that it mattered. Not like some rich guy in a fuckin' building could ever understand his motives. "Ya know how it is, empty home, no parents." Psh, of course he didn't know. He almost bitterly began smoking again, worrying his lip, tongue skirting to trace the scar.

"No, not really." He almost grinned, opening his mouth to speak. "My mother forced me into a military school immediately following my father's death. I wasn't given the time to grieve, nor a choice." Like stating the weather, his voice remained neutral. Grey eyes watched befuddlement besmirch the cocky face, corner of his lips twitching. "I always wonder people join the military because of it."

Don't ask, Altair. It's what he wants you to do. To ask so you can bond or something. A tactic he would not fall for. "Must've been nice to have a mom concerned for you."

"Concerned? Hardly. She shipped me out after I stabbed a man- to save her life, mind you. I was ten at the time, certainly not an easy thing." It was as easy as clicking a few buttons, verifying that information. He wouldn't divulge much else, but Altair's silence spoke enough, the boy fumbling with his words.

"Why'd she send you away?"

"I couldn't say. I can only speculate."

"Huh." Seemed unfair... if he was telling the truth. He'd make sure it was factual later. It wouldn't hurt to hear more of the story, not if he looked it up to see if it were true. "So did you...like the military or..." 

Haytham spared him a glance, shrugging, corners of his mouth twitching. "I liked the authority, and hitting a few people. For instance, one time..."

-=-=-=-

Huh... well so far for convincing Altair. But perhaps it was still too early for that. Even so, he heard some interesting stuff... this was the first time he heard Haytham talk about his past, his mom even. Well, he had attempted it before, but a little too late because Hickey had spoiled it already.

Still... this, about his mom shipping him off to military school... Haytham had never talked about that before with him. And yet here he was, sharing it with Altair who he barely knew! What the hell... It was... hurting a little? It didn't quite describe the feeling he had in his gut. This couldn't be a trusting issue otherwise he would have never told Altair... but why hadn't he ever told _him_ either?

"What are you doing?"

Connor did not turn around to greet Malik, who stood behind him still dressed in his pajamas. Inside the kitchen Haytham and Altair were still talking but Connor no longer even bothered to listen. Because clearly it wasn't meant for his ears, otherwise Haytham would have told him personally. "Nothing." he muttered. 

Preferably he wanted to turn around and go back to bed but that would be suspicious. Malik had already seen he was up. Either way, he would pretend he had heard nothing because the last thing he needed now was another argument with his father.

He walked into the kitchen, muttering a soft 'good morning' and moved straight towards the coffee maker to pour himself some. Nope, best to keep playing stupid.

-=-=-=-

This changed nothing. It's all Altair kept telling himself as Haytham began his short story, repeating it like a mantra. This was a psychological parlor trick he'd learned in the military himself; when dealing with a violent or difficult person, relate to them. Tell them stories. Make them trust you, so they divulge information too. That way, they're more susceptible to new idea's, right?

Oddly enough, it didn't change the fact that it was an interesting story. Or that- for a change- he wasn't bored out of his mind listening to one.

No, Altair's elbow supported his weight on the table, hand holding his head as the corners of his mouth twitched. "You really just took his mug o' rum and drank the entire thing, huh?"

"That's what he got for attempting to have an attitude with me." Finishing his coffee, Haytham went back to the stove to finish making his first love, pulling a lemon from the fridge and cutting it into eight wedges. "I was sent to aid them- I didn't volunteer, I was sent- because he couldn't do his job properly." Grabbing the sugar, he placed one teaspoon full into his cup, stirring quietly. "I would not tolerate such insolence from someone incapable of manning a ship, no matter their age."

Altair nodded, dumping the last of his cigarette into the cup. Yeah, he could see that. But still, Haytham seemed like the proper type. "Yeah, I get that, it's just I wouldn't expect that from you." Raising an eyebrow, Haytham waited for an explanation, offering Connor the slightest of grins as he walked past him. "You just seem like the proper, 'respect you elders' type, ya know?"

"It's the accent, I assure you. Completely deceiving. I'll have you know I lack the almost fundamental rules of propriety when engaging in conversation."

"Yeah, no shit." Like the fuckin' phone call from out of nowhere. Again, Haytham offered a half grin, faltering as Connor poured himself coffee- he'd already made the lad a mug, as he did most days. It was right by the maker. Hard to miss even at this point in the morning. As was his lack of customary greeting.

Right. He was probably still upset at Altair from last night. He bid Malik 'morning' as he passed, stopping to ruffle Connor's hair. The lad needed to buck up, he was attempting civility for the sake of their goals. Couldn't have him sulking about after one botched dinner. 

"There was a reason I had William handle the media, Altair. I am simply not cut out for such..." He waved his hand, trying to conjure a word from nothingness.

"Bullshit?"

"I was gong to say frivolous exaggeration, considering the media is known for such but yes. That terminology does fit."

He watched Altair worry his lip for a moment, before standing and shooing Malik away from the coffee maker with a wave of his hand; he made it last night, he had this now. 

There was silence for a moment, Haytham only relieved he could revel in such fruitful attempts; if nothing else, at least there could be civility between them. Giving Connor's shoulder a light squeeze he sat down himself, tea in hand this time and grabbed the news paper, a curious voice catching him off guard.

"So... you have, ya know." Amber eyes averted, fiddling with a unlit cigarette but going no further. "Ya have experience with weapons and hostile hostage situations? It wouldn't of hurt to mention that first, yesterday."

Blinking, Haytham tilted his head and shrugged. "I assume you did your research on me before arriving."

"I did." Paws seated itself in Malik's lap, Malik gesturing with an eye roll. "Idiot here made up his mind before doing so."

Ah, well that made sense in entirety, didn't it? The silence was brief before Altair continued, eyes nothing more than curious. "... what, ya know, would the rest of us be doing' if we decided to join." And that was a big IF.

-=-=-=-

Connor answered that before anyone else could, sitting down as well as Malik grabbed the coffee that Haytham had originally poured for his son.

"You'd be going into the den with us." he said and stirred sugar through his coffee. "Armed, like dad and me, and properly disguised. Of course, personally I think it's best if we incapacitate the first guards we see and take their weapons, to leave less trails. Any armed opposition we face we take down; shoot to incapacitate, kill if we must." He added creamer, still talking with the same light air as if he was doing a simple weather report.

"Our main concern would be securing the place and find where Silas and Cutter are hold up. We take care of them." In any and every way necessary, he added mentally. They would not be allowed to escape a second time.

"There might be spectators... paying customers. We can use the cages they use to keep the prisoners in to secure them for the police later. We inform said police with disposable cell phones so they can't track us, and tell them of the location of the den. By the time they arrive we will be long gone and they can take the 'pit dogs' to the hospital.

"It's probably going to be chaos in there, so we need Malik to guide us through from a distance. If you have any experience hacking then that would be a plus. If not, you may have to learn how to. Our lives would depend on your ability to guide us through."

Of course it wouldn't all be so easy. Connor wasn't so stupid as to think it was. But no matter the risks involved, he felt they had to do this... they simply _had_ to! Surely Altair and Malik would see that, and agree? There was no sense in sugar coating any of this. This is how it was, this was reality. Haytham might not approve of his way of explaining, but that was entirely too bad then. He wasn't too pleased with his father right now anyway.

"Before all of this there's training to be done, of course, in various things. Build some trust, since we will be going into a potentially life threatening situation. Unless, of course..." Glancing at Altair he put the spoon in his mouth as he wrapped his fingers around his coffee mug. "Unless you think you can't even handle a sparring session against me."

There. A challenge. Surely he wouldn't say no now. 

-=-=-=-

It wasn't him talking, Haytham was as certain of this as anything. It was Connor's lips moving, Connor's voice, even his mannerisms to a muted extent, but the explanation was far akin to a dialogue Haytham himself might have. Serious but lackadaisically nonchalant, a tribute Haytham himself tended to exhibit when attempting sarcasm or cynical humor. But the attempt made here was legitimate, and more than anything else, it was baffling how almost callously the lad mentioned taking a life. He could only hope it was the rage against his assailants making itself known, simply because he'd just woken and was, perhaps, not a particularly pleasant morning person.

And he would've written the event of in its entirety if not for the finality of his statements. Malik offered a raised brow but said nothing, Haytham himself blinking a time or two, eyes steadily focused on his son. What the hell was he _doing?_

A chuckle of sorts left Altair, before he stood up to get more coffee, shaking his head. "Eager to kick my ass after last night, huh?" Alright, he got it. He'd been a douche yesterday and the kid was looking to defend his dad. Though by the looks of it his dad didn't need much defending...

Ah, whatever. He still wasn't convinced they should join the effort, but he would say this. "Well, me and Malik were talking and there's a consensus that I may have been out of line-"

"You were an idiotic douche bag and let your immaturity- once again- reign free as is your horrible habit."

"... 'kay, thanks Malik. Anything else you'd like to add?"

The grimace never left his face, Paws and Socks both approaching from under the table, Paws gravitating towards Malik and Socks jumping into Haytham's lap before he could protest. "Pft, I don't have eternity to sit here and name your every flaw, Altair. Make your point and be done."

"Jesus, I'm trying to apologize-"

"Stop trying and just do it."

"Fine!" Amber met silver and shrugged, averting his eyes before looking back. "Sorry."

There was silence, Malik and Haytham exchanging a glance briefly, Malik glaring at Altair and Haytham eying Connor, Socks purring away in his lap. His comment may be blowing over with them but it wasn't with Haytham, if simply because he saw no reason to be this agitated. Malik and Altair quipped to and fro for sometime, Altair finally gritting his teeth and borderline yelling. "Alright! I get it, my apology is fail, at least I tried."

"The attempt is appreciated." Keeping his tone neutral, Haytham's eyes were still on Connor's, fingers stroking a spot behind Socks' ears. Challenging Altair... they may have trained for months, yes, but four years of military training was likely to beat out Connor's skill. That and it hadn't been an offer to spar, but a... what? A goad into fighting him? This wasn't regarding the comments made the evening prior, that was laid to rest...

He wasn't quite sure what bothered him more, Connor's lack of tact and recklessness in the wake of him making at attempt to socialize or his own inability to resolve his own perplexities. He did add, in after thought, a grin stretching at his features. "Though, perhaps the two of you should spar." Connor seemed to blow off steam when he spared, perhaps he needed that for whatever unfathomable reason. And perhaps Altair could land a well placed hit or two. Wouldn't hurt to have some sense knocked back into his son every now and again. 

Like hell if he'd do it, oh no. He'd much prefer going over the software with Malik in the mean time, perhaps they could divide and conquer. If his son's mouth would permit the opportunity.

-=-=-=-

"I suppose you could call it eagerness, yes." Connor answered, spoon still between his teeth as he waited for his coffee to cool down enough to drink without burning his esophagus. He barely listened to Altair's half-baked apologies. This wasn't about last night and the argument at dinner.

He drank his coffee silently as Malik and Altair bickered back and forth - they seemed to be doing that a lot, an awful lot even. That would take some time getting used to. Altair always seemed to brood over something, and Malik was no better. They probably had their reasons, but it was still graining on his nerves.

"I'm going to take a shower." Setting his empty cup down Connor pushed his chair back. He'd have breakfast later, right now he just wanted to be _away._ He knew he was probably overreacting, he thought as he walked into the master bedroom and closed the door, just after he heard Altair ask his father if he minded him raiding the refrigerator.

Connor quickly walked into the adjoined bathroom and leaned his hands on the sink, drumming the edge with his fingers. The fast paced tick-tick-tick of his nails was the only sound in the room as he stared at his reflection, watching the angry frown on his face.

It didn't change the fact that Haytham had told someone, who was technically still a stranger, something that Connor had always assumed was a sensitive sore spot with him, seeing as Haytham never talked about his past unless prompted and in a good mood. It was why he had always been reluctant to ask about his father's past, how he had grown up, his side of the family... he only knew bits and pieces and most of them had come from Hickey. Haytham knew so much about _him,_ yet he hardly knew anything about his father aside from those parts Haytham allowed him to know. The few times he had asked, like that one time his father had bottomed for him, Haytham had skirted around his questions, giving vague answers before changing the topic to something else.

Why didn't Haytham trust him with it? It wasn't like he would go and tell everyone! Whatever secrets he had, they would be safe with him! Why wouldn't he tell him? And why had he told Altair?

It shouldn't bother him so much, shouldn't affect him so much... but it did. And it wasn't Altair's fault, but that didn't make him any less pissed at him!

Growling Connor slammed his fist on the sink and turned, glad that he at least had enough self control to not rip the mirror off the wall a second time. Turning on the water and letting it heat up to his desired temperature he quickly stripped and jumped under the hot spray; the water was nearly scalding, almost too hot but ever since Brazil that was how he preferred it - almost hot enough to burn everything away. It usually helped, and he hoped it did now as well. 

-=-=-=-

It was either avoidance or ignorance that kept Connor's eyes averted, never looking at him. Had they been alone he'd demand the lad to stay. An explanation was merited when something so sporadically and apparently became lodged up the ass of his little spoon. Haytham watched him depart with the barest of twitching lips. To follow him would be strange amidst the present company, particularly with his obvious declaration of hygienic needs.

Instead he bid his time waiting, allowing Altair to 'raid' his fridge, and even going as far as to remove a few pans from the cupboards should he desire to cook. Ample time, enough time to read a few pages of the paper and 'peer' at his watch with a frown, a curious yet what was sure to be slightly irritated look passing his features as he sighed aloud. "I swear, the lad and his affinity to using all the hot water with drawn out showers..." As if he cared, but it was viable enough, especially with the increased company. They'd probably prefer a hot shower, his departure to supposedly alert Connor of the time taken to bathe accepted as what he presumed was standard fatherly behavior.

Entering their bedroom, he frowned just slightly. The shower was indeed off, so what was he doing? Brooding? Sulking? Obviously Haytham could only do so much for either one of those ailments, but what truly concerned him was the reason. He'd seemed perfectly fine last night, perhaps something had occurred after he retired for the evening?

Either way, his behavior was distracting, and could cause potential causes or rifts in what they'd been striving for. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't worth the debauchery of arduous months of labor. That point would make itself known.

Without hesitation he knocked three consecutive times, a warning before he opened the door and winced. It looked like a sauna, all steam and thick air, too thick to close the bathroom door in entirety, and he left it open just a crack, their bedroom door adequately shut.

He still wouldn't spare a glance in his general direction, and he couldn't help the sigh that left him before he asked, leaning against the adjacent bit of wall.

"How did I offend you without even _speaking_ to you?" Because it was so obviously him the anger was directed to, tense shoulders and a clenched jaw telling no lies. The issue was, normally he'd an inkling as to what he said or did not say- it was usually his casual behavior towards supposedly horrid events or his 'tactlessness' that upset the lad- but there was no clue to be had this time. He hadn't muttered a word! Leave it to Connor to find someway to become aggravated with him for not speaking.

-=-=-=-

He heard the door open but Connor remained where he was, standing in the tub against the tiled wall. He had already finished his shower but he didn't feel like coming out yet, preferring to stay standing in the thick steam for a little while longer.

Connor did not immediately answer the question; he wasn't sure how to answer it in the first place, in a way that wouldn't make Haytham think he was being whiny or childish or whatever. Perhaps he _was_ overreacting, who knew?

"It's not about something you said to me." he eventually muttered. "It's about something you said to Altair." With that Connor pushed away from the wall and shoved the shower curtain aside - he had nothing Haytham hadn't seen before from each and every angle anyway, cooling water drops slowly drying on his skin and dribbling down from his wet hair, plastered against his shoulders and back, to follow the contours of his body.

"What I have an issue with, dad-" he contained, struggling to keep his voice calm and even. Under control. "-is how easily you mention things concerning _you_ to Altair, things you have never bothered to tell me. I get that what happened to you in your youth won't make for happy stories. The little bits I do know tell me that. I understand that, I really do. It's why I try not to ask you about it even though I'm curious, and I get that is probably the reason why you always skirt around answering when I do ask."

Gritting his teeth he stepped out of the tub and moved past his father to grab a towel, beginning the tedious job of wrenching the water out of his hair. "I hardly know anything about your side of the family. I know you had a sister but I don't know her name. I don't know the name of your mom, or your dad. I don't know where you were born other than that it was somewhere in London, or how you grew up. The only time you ever really talked to me about the things you did when you were younger was how you met mom. I don't... I don't want to have to wait for _someone else,_ like Hickey, to tell me things about you, and you hardly ever bring it up out of your own volition, and I don't want to ask because I don't want to upset you by asking you to bring up what I assume are unpleasant memories."

Yes, Haytham had wanted to tell him about the whole business with Birch on the same day Hickey had told him, but still too late.

"And then I hear you talk to Altair," he continued as he pulled the towel away, keeping his back turned to Haytham, "mention your mother - my aunt, whom I don't even know is still alive or not - like it's nothing." Connor sighed and threw the towel in a hamper before crossing his arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm probably overreaction, but..." he shrugged and turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder to look at Haytham, and his voice lowered considerably. "You do know you can trust me, right? That whatever secrets you have, they'll be safe with me?"

-=-=-=-

Oh for heavens _sake._ Torn between smacking Connor upside the head and patting him like the kicked puppy he was currently resembling, Haytham choose a middle ground and sighed, arms crossing over his chest, but not defensively. In some way he supposed there was validity to the statement, but for the most part it was absurd. He hadn't told Altair anything anyone couldn't google in under five minutes.

And he should be ruder about it, Connor had acted out of immature misunderstanding, yet again. Compromising their work with irrationality. And yet, while he wasn't smiling or particularly kind, nor was he as stern as he could have, and perhaps should have been.

"It has nothing to do with a perceived level of trust, lad." Said with finality, he remained put, grey eyes focused on the tile ahead. "It was information that is readily available to the public on all forums." He sighed, slowly, head resting against the misted, humid tile, condensation dotting his clothing. As enticing as the view was, it wasn't of importance for the moment.

"Childhood was far from posies and hand holding. Any soft words of encouragement spoken to me were gone before I even hit puberty, of no fault to my father, it was just so." One couldn't predict the outcome of what occurred so long ago. Even now he had difficulty believing much of it. But those earlier years remained impersonal. 

"The fact of the matter is, it's not horribly interesting, I could not let such information be personal as it was published by the time I was in my mid twenties and running a pharmaceutical chain and its..." He waved his hand, unsure. "Common knowledge, unworthy of repeating."

His gaze had yet to revert itself, still watching a single droplet of water follow the crease in the tile. He couldn't help the minor agitation lacing his voice as he spoke again. "Refrain from asking ridiculous questions, I sleep with my back to you on occasion, in a house full of weapons, and already having had a miserable experience with one prior partner with such." Honestly, how much more trust did he need to show him? He'd tried to communicate, but Hickey ruined that by being himself.

Of course there was the other... story he'd never finished. Or began. And quite frankly he didn't know if it was the time to do so, although...

Trust was the big issue. Connor trusted him, the feeling wasn't being mutually felt, and if not felt by them, it could- by extension- be expected to reach Altair and Malik. And Connor had just referenced that little incident. Granted he'd hidden some facts away for reasons of comfort beneficial to both parties, but Connor was fairing much better. Nightmares were a rarity, and he'd meant to tell him something of importance.

It was with hesitant trepidation that Haytham worried his lip, very quickly sending a glance Connor's way. "My intention to share some information with you was thwarted previously by Thomas and his inability to shut his mouth." He placed his arms in front of him, one hand over the other. The calloused pad of his thumb could only provide so much temporary relief.

"If you've a moment I suppose I could mention a particular story of interest, if I'm given the opportunity to bathe afterwards." Because Connor used the hot water, as always. And he'd keep telling himself that.

-=-=-=-

Oh, so now his questions were ridiculous?

Connor turned away again, just so Haytham wouldn't see him grit his teeth in frustration. Dammit, he was trying here, but clearly Haytham deemed it all not important, or didn't seem too concerned by the fact that this bothered him. Of course he knew that he could look it all up on the internet and find everything he wanted to know that way, but that was so impersonal.

That was _not_ how he wanted it. Just like how he hadn't wanted to learn through Hickey, but his curiosity had been so peeked then he couldn't help but listen. But it had been horribly bad timing either way.

"I get it, you don't have to waste any more breath on the matter." he muttered and moved to brush passed Haytham to leave the bathroom, desperate to get dressed now, but his father's next words made him stop in the doorway.

A story of interest?

Connor turned again, the surprise he wasn't able to mask in his eyes. So _now_ he was willing to tell him something? Then again, that had been the whole point... to get his father finally willing to _share._  
He took a second to glance at the bedroom door, wondering what Malik and Altair were doing... but then turned again to face Haytham, and nodded. "Yeah, I... have a moment." he said, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice and not wanting to either. "If you're really okay with telling..."

He could get dressed later.

-=-=-=-

 _No._ He ignored the voice inside him, protesting with every fiber of his being. _No. Don't tell him. Don't tell him. There's no need, there's other stories._ And there was, a multitudinous sea of prospective tales, but he choose this one regardless. Besides the lad had questioned it a time or two, there was no reason for it to remained unaddressed. Trust, it worked both ways or so he was told.

If only it were an issue of trust. He more plopped than sat on the bed, wringing his hands as he rested on the edge. More than anything, he was simply unable to cope with the fool he'd been.

"To answer the seemingly month old tale of why I don't use lubricant, which also intersects with my reactions to pleasurable stimulation from the hydro-coitus." Blinking, he frowned at Connor's owlish stare. "... the sex in the bathtub, lad. Hydro-coitus." Off to a wonderful start already.

He hesitated, just slightly, hands still in his lap. "You recall, some time ago, when I mentioned the first encounter I had with intercourse?" He recalled it somewhat, he'd been frustrated with Connor's attitude and stormed away almost immediately afterward. 

"If not it's of no consequence, I... fabricated a few details, or rather misappropriated the slant terminology in use. You see, in Britain, the word 'pleasant' typically means utterly dreadful." Blinking, he offered a small shrug. "The pleasant tea you used to make, that dreadful excuse for football you Americans have adopted, getting a finger caught in a door, it's all pleasant, where as 'not bad' means, I suppose, quite good." 

He had a few examples of that, but seeing as they related to Connor's strange oral fixation with spoons and other things, he digressed. It left him little solace anyhow.

"If you recall, I called my first experience 'pleasant'." His lips twitched, frown marring his features as he exhaled rather loudly. "I'd have been better off masturbating, and not because he tried to kill me a few months later, either."

It was hesitation, but a sense of forlorn disappointment, just left hanging in the air. "I wasn't a virgin, not entirely. In a camp of young men all hitting puberty simultaneously, absent of women for months at a time, it wasn't that uncommon to engage in activities of the sort." And even he had engaged, far more than once. A testosterone laden male with no family, surrounded by more than a few peers experiencing the same exact situation? Oh yes, he'd indulged and regretted nothing from it. That is, excluding this.

"Needless to say, me in my state of youthful infatuation with an older gentleman who was, supposedly seeking to fulfill my interests, decided- as unfathomable as it would seem- that allowing said man to bed me in a way I hadn't prior would perhaps please him." Young and foolish, he'd thought the offer grand. "While I hold no personal stake with my virginity, nor did I wish to hold it, I suppose I thought the gesture of allowing one to..." A faint flush reached his cheeks "... have me in such a state was an act of trust if nothing else.

"I suppose I should say I'd been infatuated with him for sometime, being fifteen. It wasn't until that time that he, Reginald as it were, approached me." He grimaced at the name, continuing. "Within the day I was in his chambers, silly little fool I was." As if his own feelings of affection could be returned at such an age.

The bedding was soft beneath his trembling finger tips, and it was with effort that he remained neutral. "Well, I assumed he had the same feelings for me being the daft, naive, idiotic..." Grey eyes shut, and he pushed his anger away just barely, fingers tracing a pattern along their bedding. "At any rate I acquiesced, believing the experience would be fair in the least, given our thirty some odd age difference I'd thought him to be experienced." He would not allow the details to escape his lips, but the point would be made known.

He couldn't bring himself to look at Connor, a flush bright on his face. "I was unable to relax, seeking comfort in a few or more glasses of wine when his patience was obviously tried. He wasn't one for preparation, nor intimacy face to face." His teeth ground, his inability to look at anything but his own hands taken so suddenly, and he murmured. "Such a stupid fool, naiveté and all."

He'd gotten so far, finishing the tale was in sight. "Face down, sans preparation, though there was entirely too much lubricant." It had gotten everywhere, in addition to that unclean feeling, the horrible sticky liquid stuck to him for far too long. "He rutted, did what felt good to him judging by the noises he made, and had me dress and leave to avoid detection." There was no attempt at pleasure for his own benefit, no thanks, no requests for his company. Nothing.

"I suppose it goes without saying, that until a month ago I had no conceptualization as to what prostate stimulation felt like. Nor had I the desire to find out for sometime." His own fault, and he sighed, finally meeting Connor's eyes, unshaken but there was a touch of something around the edges.

"What's almost amusing, lad, is that I allowed him to do so continuously for months, under various influences in the thought that he would perhaps alter his method. Such was the extent of my own infatuation, and my own stupidity by admittance." Grey eyes averted again, muttering. "I almost literally asked for it."

-=-=-=-

Ah. The lubricant story.

Well, that did so happen to be the one story Connor wanted to be told the most.

He sat down next to his father on the bed and folded his hands in his lap, still very much aware that he was butt naked but it didn't seem to bother either of them, and listened.

...

It wasn't what he had expected. Birch was... he was... Connor had now words for it, but rapist came close even though Haytham had said it had been consensual. More so that it hadn't happened just once, but over the course of a few months!

"Jesus dad..." he muttered. He wasn't quite sure what to say to this. It hadn't been a happy story, and he hadn't expected it to be, but... "It... explains a lot, you know?" His lips pressed into a thin line as he lifted his hand and awkwardly put it on his father's shoulder. "I always thought that... that it was laziness on your part, that you just didn't want to bother with lube when you were with me. I did get angry about that at times..." He looked up. "I apologize for that." His fingers squeezed gently; he wasn't good at this whole comforting thing, a trait he seemed to have inherited from the man sitting next to him. They both knew that they sucked at it but that didn't mean they didn't try. 

"Birch... he deserved it. He definitely deserved it..." Reginald had used him for his own desires, plain and simple. Haytham may have been willing, but as far as Connor was concerned it was still no better than rape, because it had definitely left its mark on his father.

He would never ask for lube again. For the last three months they had been using various kinds of oil (and even shampoo a handful of times when they were sharing a shower). It worked just as well, and Haytham didn't seem to mind oil.

His hand slipped from his shoulder to entangle his fingers with Haytham's, and leaned sideways to rest his head on his shoulder instead. "I'm sorry for this morning. I wasn't angry at you." More like annoyed, but no longer, no. 

This was a step in the right direction. One of many more, he hoped. "Lets stick with oil." he said with a small grin as he looked up, fingers squeezing. "We're okay now? No hard feelings?"

-=-=-=-

Jesus indeed. Haytham shut his eyes, breathing controlled and even. It was the worst of it, truly; and stories after this one seemed to pale in comparisson, and he knew that. From here on out it would be considered almost simple to divulge little tidbits.

He simply rose an eyebrow at the laziness comment but let it go. In truth, he hadn't realized how beneficial the use of something could be to ease the pain of entry until he himself experienced the discomfort. He could understand the frustration, he supposed.

"Mm. Oil is fine." If anything he'd use a pack away trial sized bottle to hold it in. It lacked that ghastly sticky quality, which was more than fine with him. As for hard feelings... his lips pressed to Connor's forehead, nuzzling his hair just for a moment, before meeting dark brown eyes. "No, I still demand payment, in the form of peppermint green tea and two lemon wedges, to be waiting for me when I leave my shower." He made no move to actually go into the shower, enjoying the moment. It was a weight lifted from him, in a sense, no matter how trying it had been.

They did, however, need part. Suspicions and the like. He stood up with a sigh, entangling their hands but not before adding some, curious. "... You said Reginald deserved it, lad." He half turned, profile visible in the doorway. "My intention was to cripple him for eternity. He deserved worse than death." He wasn't the only one who deserved worse then death on their repertoire, but that was beyond the point for now. A discussion for later.

"Though I suppose he did deserve to die minus his second head." He took in Connor's curious expression before a genuine grin spread across his features. "Apparently, a daringer bullet can cause one to bleed out when piercing the end of a man's flaccid penis. Had I known, I may have shot at his knee cap instead." He shouldn't be smiling, yet he was. Furthermore,. he was happy. It was a story with a fair end, and he could only hope for the same for them.

"Go make my tea, I'll return shortly."

-=-=-=-

"Heh, yes sir!"

His mood had improved immensely, he felt much better now that they had talked things over. As Haytham locked himself in the bathroom Connor moved to the closet and quickly pulled on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

Malik and Altair were still seated at the kitchen table when he entered, quietly talking to each other. They looked up when he walked past but Connor ignored them and grabbed the water boiler for his father's tea. By now, he had finally gotten the hang of it, making tea that Haytham liked enough without having to say that it was 'pleasant' or whatever.

"You're suddenly in a pleasant mood." Malik called from the table. Connor hummed in response as he cut a lemon, feeling Altair's eyes on him again. Pressing the two slices into the glass he poured the tea and carried the cup to the table, setting it down in front of Haytham's empty chair.

"We had a good talk." he muttered. Hm... no more coffee. Looked like Altair had drank it all.

... he was hungry too. Dad hadn't eaten yet, had he? Hm, well he suppooooosed he could put some bread in the toaster, perhaps that would cheer his father up even more!

As long as he didn't let it burn.

-=-=-=-

Long and relaxing, that's how all showers should be. Too often had he found himself rushing as of late, caught between juggling far too many tasks at once. It was needed, and dare he say, well deserved for his efforts. It hadn't been as horrible as expected, either, which helped minutely as he scrubbed himself a touch harder than necessary.

Emerging sometime later, damp hair tied back into its red ribbon, a dark blue polo and tan slacks complimenting his frame in entirety. It wasn't until he approached the table that he noticed tea as well as toast waiting for him, as well as Altair and Malik still seated. Hm.

He made no comments, simply grabbing the newspaper and sitting beside Connor. His bare foot just so happened to stroke half way up Connor's calf, ignoring the awkward angle. The effort on his behalf was more than appreciated.

It was the silent conversation between Altair and Malik that made him falter, Haytham finally clearing his throat, eyes darting from between the two of them. "Something you want to say, either of you?"

"... when would we start training?"

If his eyes widened just a fraction it was unhelpable. Altair shrugged. "It's not definitive, we have a lot to talk about, all of us, but uh..." He shrugged again and his tongue skirted over the scar on his lip in what Haytham recognized to be a habit. "Couldn't hurt to train."

"Or learn that software, it has it's practical purposes." Well yes, if Malik wanted to be batman he supposed. Within seconds the light thud of a cat plopped into his lap, Haytham giving Connor the smallest of grins. 

"Why wait? Connor, go get ready." He'd waited long enough, hell they both had for this moment. "Training starts now."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back, and we present to you, Plot Point Number 3! And I wish to end the chapter by saying "Dun dun dunnnnn!"
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include **graphic violence and character death!** Also, action scenes are le difficult to write, rawr.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and if you spot any typos let me know. I'm tired and I may have missed some.
> 
> -Necro

The leaves had taken to changing color when they'd left New York. They'd be back in time to see the reds, oranges and yellows. Autumn had always been his favorite time of year... perhaps Connor could visit a quaint area in Massachusetts with him, for a few days after all was said and done. And perhaps, maybe their new companions would like to join.

It was almost startling how they'd settled around each other in the two months to follow. Never officially declared, Altair and Malik alike had accepted the training, Haytham never entirely sure if it was a permanent settlement or whether contemplation or doubt lingered, He could only bide time and offer hospitality- or as much as he was inclined to offer- their bickering, habits, dietary wants, all becoming ingrained in him. He became accustomed to morning quarrels and the soft thud of Socks making his lap her home. He gravitated toward conversation with Malik, going so far as to actually enjoy morning tea and the bickering they partook in.

It wasn't until one morning when a note was left that it was finalized, a cup of his own tea ready, two lemon wedges and a packet of sugar waiting with the large handwriting suiting a man like Altair. 

'Need our stuff. Rented the apartment. I want chicken for dinner.'

He made steak instead but that was beside the point.

It was smooth, for the most part, the hours of training on both their behalves. Granted it left Haytham beyond drained, and far too often did Connor wake him up from an array of positions throughout the apartment, the mix of physical assertion and the software he manipulated simply too much to bare without becoming exhausted. But its purpose was of far too great importance for him to become agitated at his lack of rest. He lead them, and as any apt leader should, oversaw a bit of everything.

Needless to say, they were ready. Altair's military experience and Connor's raw capacity for strength were truly an enticing match, the mix of raw skill, rage, and learned trait combining into something fierce. Perhaps it was favoritism that manipulated his opinion so, but Connor had seemed to surpass his expectations. Even now he looked over the lad and shook his head.

The flight to Bali had exhausted them, the switch in time zones far from easy to over come. He'd anticipated as much, giving them a day or so to switch their schedules and sleep. Even Haytham took a moment to relax, breathing in the spray of the ocean from the other side of the world. Less heavy, less thick than the Atlantic, and warmer, more inviting in a welcoming sort of way.

He proffered the cold any day.

His nap being thoroughly through, Malik and Altair slept in the connecting room, Altair's snores audible even so. Yawning, Haytham observed the door separating the two rooms before acting, slipping behind what was once his mentally dubbed little spoon.

Although now bear would be more fitting. He hadn't so much outgrew Haytham's own stature as visibly crushed it, his frame literally inches thicker in comparison. None of Haytham's shirts properly closed on the boy, the seams screaming and buttons clinging to their threads whenever he felt like borrowing one. No, Connor was massive, a powerhouse of energy and strength. Haytham had no doubt: Cutter was certainly a dead man.

Fingering a beaded strand of hair, he took the moment to nuzzle the back of his son's neck, eyes closed. It was only unfortunate they could not be intimate more often. Hands drifted over shoulders almost the size of his head, before an arm tightened around the broad just before him.

"Lad, it's nine o' one." He resisted drawing the curtains and allowing the sun into the room, opting for an attempt at something nicer. "Coffee's ready, I've to wake the others in a moment." Even though it was warm and comfortable... damn, but there was a few last details to consider and much preparation for the evening. Infiltration was inevitable tonight.

-=-=-=-

"Mhm..."

A soft, incoherent mumble was all Haytham got as a reply as Connor nuzzled his face into the pillow so more. He hated jet lag. It was official, he fucking hated it. Stupid time zones, ugh. One day was not nearly enough to get used to the new schedule. Last time it had nearly taken him a week to adjust! He rarely traveled, not like his father who was used to travel all across the globe and was used to it.

Today was the day though. After months of preparation and planning, today, _tonight,_ they would go in. Back into the temple. Remembering that was enough for Connor to open his eyes, blearily staring at the bland white wall of the room.

He wasn't sure what he should be feeling, considering that in twelve hours they would be facing a life threatening situation, something extremely dangerous. People would loose their lives tonight and with luck Cutter and Silas would be among them. On the other hand, lives would be saved as well. This was as much a rescue mission as it was a revenge mission.

Oh there was no denying the turmoil of emotions he felt churning in his stomach, nervousness and anxiety. What if something went wrong tonight? What if one of them got injured, or even killed? What if they couldn't do it? What if they got caught? What if...

But that was the risk they were taking. All they could do was prepare to the best of their abilities, and Connor knew they had great help. Altair's skill was invaluable and with him on their side their chances definitely increased. And Malik with his near photogenic memory and attention to detail; he'd be waiting in the land rover they had hired, providing strategic back up from a distance. It would definitely help.

He was excited and nervous at the same. Still though, fucking jet lag.

Connor muttered something into the pillow and sighed, before he rolled onto his other side to face his father. "I dun wanna get up." he grumbled and closed his eyes again, scooting closer to wrap his arms around his father's shoulders. His lips pressed against his and his tongue quickly found its way inside to slowly lick the roof of Haytham's mouth before it withdrew again and Connor smirked into the kiss.

"So make me."

-=-=-=-

No surprise there, he was always difficult to awaken. He almost had time for retort, until a quick tongue found purchase in his mouth. Could anyone blame him for shutting his eyes as a weakness was exploited, the very sensitive roof of his mouth tickled. Why in heaven's name was he pulling away? He wanted more!

"So make me."

Oh the little shit... he wanted nothing better than to do so. Quick romps in the shower, a number that did not exceed the double digits; that's what there sex life had become in recent months. Haytham could but shut his eyes, sighing, barely resisting pressing their lips together again. No, he needed to be the strong one here...

"As much as I'd like nothing more- and honestly, lad, I truly would-" he paused, motioning to the door and sighed, the smallest of pecks placed on Connor's lips. "We can't take that chance."

Regrettably, he sat up once more, frown twitching at his lips. It was different, having someone in such close proximity and not being capable of showing physical- or even to an extent, emotional- affection, rather than being celibate. No this was far more torturous, but entirely necessary. They'd come to far.

"After this is said and done, you're coming with me to Massachusetts, if not there then Vermont." Adding a sugar to the now warm coffee, Haytham grabbed a napkin and lay it on the night stand. "The foliage and orchards, mountain ranges and wildlife are alive this time of year. I'm unsure of what game is in season, but a week on the lake- they've a ferry that allows transportation from about Lake George by the Catskills to Vermont- I think it's merited, for you and I." It wasn't as if they'd time to themselves, and if he was to be outright, he did _miss_ some of the more intimate moments shared, and not solely physically. His idea would simply need to speak the words he could not.

It was said affection that charmed him into placing a kiss on Connor's forehead, hand stroking dark hair, ruffled from sleep. "I've to wake them. But recall, this time in two weeks, mountain range, orchards, and foliage, as promised." He looked forward to it after all was said and done. There was simply no room for error, and Haytham would not allow such. He moved almost lethargically, knocking on the connecting door before opening, Malik grumbling and rummaging about already, as Altair remained hidden under blankets, snoring.

"Coffee?" The grimace on Malik's face said it all before he shot the sleeping Altair a scathing look, muttering about snoring before padding to their bathroom, the spray of the shower loud. Right then. He met Connor's eyes as he turned with a shrug. "Seat was probably left down." That always did irritate him...

-=-=-=-

Bah, he was no fun.

Haytham made some valid points there though; they really couldn't take that chance, not here and not back home, not as long as they shared their living space with two other men who didn't know about their... relationship.

Hm, Massachusetts... he missed hunting. The normal kind of hunting, the fun kind. It'd be great getting to go on a hunting trip with his dad again, just the two of them, without all the stress and worries of the last few months looming over them to ruin the mood.

Just him and his dad. Yeah, sounded perfect.

Connor remained in bed for a few more minutes, listening to the distant sound of the shower and the soft snores Altair was making. When he finally did manage to drag himself out of bed, dressed in simple sweat pants and a tank top, and padded into the living room barefooted, Altair was _still_ sleeping, a big lump under the blankets.

Well that wouldn't do. If he was forced to get up, then there was no way in hell Altair would be allowed to sleep in! While they weren't exactly friends, Altair was pretty much the best sparring partner he could have wished for, ruthless and talented, strong and pushing him to his limits. Not friends, but definitely partners and they had learned to trust each other's back over the last two months of constant training.

Unable to keep the smirk off his face, knowing that Haytham was watching him, Connor tiptoed into the bedroom and grabbed the covers, softly snickering to himself before he yanked them away to reveal the man's curled up form. The result was instantaneous: Altair surged upright, bed hair and all and his eyes were comically wide as he cussed him out in Arabic. Whatever he was calling him, it sounded foul, but it did nothing to deter him; still smirking Connor stepped closer to the bed with his hands outstretched.

Altair's mouth closed with a clack and the spew of Arabic filth quieted down immediately. "What the hell, Connor?" he hissed and leaned away from the hands reaching towards him. "What are you doing? I don't- WHAT THE FUCK, CONNOR?!"

Altair grunted as Connor's shoulder dug into his stomach, his amber eyes nearly bulging out of his skull as his brain tried to figure out just _why_ the boy had just picked up him up and hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of wheat while smirking like a maniac.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?! Let me go!" He beat his fists on Connor's back, but Connor for his part ignored it and padded back into the living room, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"I said to let me go!" Altair snapped and tried to kick out before he was promptly dropped into a chair opposite of Haytham. "The hell was that for?" he grumbled and ran his hand through his messy hair as Connor shoved one of the steaming coffee mugs towards him.

"Good morning to you too." he quipped and flopped down into the chair next to his father, folding his legs underneath him. Altair grumbled under his breath and glared at him over the rim of his mug.

"Fuck you."

"No thanks."

"Brat."

"Asshole."

"Pass me the sugar, you little shit."

Tossing a packet of sugar at Altair, Connor laced his fingers together under his chin, his smirk still present. This had almost become a morning ritual between the two of them; Altair would bitch at him for whatever reason and he'd bitch back just as hard. He knew it was all in good fun, and as soon as Malik came in Altair would avert his bitching and turn to him instead. It was funny.

-=-=-=-

His lips twitched, if only slightly, watching the display put on between the two of them. No, there was nothing Altair could do against the brute strength that was his son; a surge of pride fled through him, unhelpable. To think he created that- very masculine, strong, and willed- young man.

"Alright, settle down." He couldn't help but ruffle Altair's bed head as he passed by, another custom adopted, if only because he was fetchingly grumpy in the morning. The sound of the shower shutting reached his ears, and Haytham grabbed another cup and placed it on the seat to his left, spoon to the right, napkin under it, two sugars in the upper right corner and creamer north of his coffee.

Why couldn't everyone be a creature of habit? It made mornings that much bearable.

It wasn't long before the wet, tousled head of Malik poked out of the shower, his one hand comically slapping Altair upside the head mid conversation with Connor. "The fuck?!"

"Seat down, I assume?" 

Malik nodded in Haytham's direction, before sending Altair another glare. "All I ask is to not know your scheduled bowel movements, pray tell why it's so difficult?"

"Oh god, we're on this again?" Every time Connor and he left Haytham and Malik alone, Malik had something new to bitch about, the newest being the ordeal regarding toilet seats and their 'use.' He just shook his head and stirred his coffee, muttering. Of course Malik would enjoy the company of an uptight Brit.

"We never got off it, just follow the damn rules, moron." Sugar, creamer north, waste bin-

Extended, and held in Haytham's hand. See?! Routine, structure! He grunted, Haytham nodding and setting it back down again, dredging his own tea bag into the water and waiting for it to steep until almost pitch black. To business.

"It goes without saying that today is exceptionally important." The mug pressed to his lips, Haytham sipped with a soft sigh; even in a bag, India had wonderfully strong tea. "I know we've been over every inch of this plan but I'd like to rebrief before setting into action." To avoid a paper trail he'd withdrew funds and would pay all in cash, including the outfit's they'd need. Bali was a 'paradise' island, cash transactions- especially for clothing- would be impossible to track. "Weaponry- we're all in agreement?"

"Use the weapons of the first guards and be sure to wear gloves. Makes it untraceable, yup." Yeah, they'd discussed it, and Altair remembered it well. Malik was doing surveillance, communicating with an ear piece, and a disposable cell phone had already been purchased by Altair the day prior, in cash.

"Of the utmost importance is remaining a solidified group." Grey eyes darted to Connor specifically. "Tempers may flare, but keeping a calm demeanor is key in situations such as these. We need know each others locations at all point lest something unforeseen occurs. Escaping as a solid unit is of the utmost importance before authorities are alerted." One false move and their cover could be destroyed... it went without saying how much truly went into this one act alone.

"Do I have everybody's word on that?"

-=-=-=-

Altair and Connor silenced immediately and turned their attention to Haytham. They all knew the plan inside out by now, Connor even dreamed about it at times after rehearsing it.

The clothes they had gotten were all black, with caps, sunglasses and scarves to hide the lower parts of their faces, and they would all wear bullet proof vests underneath.

The plan was the leave the rented apartment looking like every other tourist out here, taking the rented land rover out for a fun evening ride. Once they were far enough away and into the jungle they would change in their 'combat suits', and Altair would drive them towards a pre-determined spot as close to the temple as they could.

Once there, the plan was to map the car's location on a gps, and Connor, Haytham and Altair would continue on foot, keeping in touch with Malik who would remain in the car. Once the place was secured they would call the local authorities on the disposable cell phone and destroy it; they'd be long gone by the time the police would arrive at the temple. Whatever blood and filth they had garnered during the raid, they could wash off at a river they had mapped earlier, and they had already stashed the land rover with a couple of jerry cans filled with water, just in case. They could get redressed there and burn the black clothes, and return to the apartment.

Of course, this all assuming everything went according to plan and no one on their side got injured. If any of that happened, well... they had a plan B but Connor would rather not think about that.

He felt the eyes on him when Haytham mentioned that no matter what circumstances, they had to stick together in there. It would be just the three of them, in a den where they didn't fully know the layout of and they _would_ be outnumbered. They had the element of surprise if everything went well and they would all carry a few smoke and flash bombs in case they needed to retreat, but Connor knew how important it was to remain one group. It could make all the difference.

"Yeah." he nodded as he met his father's grey eyes, and Altair voiced his promise as well. Malik would have three communication lines open, one for each, at all times. If they did get separated then at least Malik could help them keep in touch with the rest until they found each other again.

But hopefully it wouldn't be necessary.

-=-=-=-

Alright. There was nothing more Haytham could do, and admittedly he was weary but... that was it then. He'd take Connor's word on the matter, the lad undoubtedly saw how dangerous the situation was for all involved. He's take him at his very word.

~*~

One truly could not understand darkness until in the dead of the jungle, not a soul around for miles. The brief, fleeting light from each and every star did little, Malik adjusting his ear piece and testing it on each and every person, ensuring everything was in proper order. He'd spare no potential misfires, lives were at stake. Their own, amongst the prisoners.

He wasn't nervous, per say. Cutter, Silas, whatever bastards thought it fine to run this institution deserved nothing but death, He'd killed before, granted not often but more than once. He felt no guilt in doing so again, but Connor...

He could but hope he'd made the right choice as a father and further. If something went awry... he shook his head, lips pressed into a tight line. No. Nothing would go awry. They'd follow the plan and execute it properly, end of discussion.

"How is the signal feed, Malik?"

"Strong enough." Dark eyes scanned, voice gruff. "Not heavy security, only four men at the moment. Heavily armed, I count two sub machine guns and a few machetes. I'll keep you posted."

A brief nod was all he could muster, the gloves he wore sticking. The jungle was humid, even in September, and Haytham gave his neck one last pop before facing both his son and Altair. "We enter together, we leave together. No matter what."

A nod from either of them, and be it his 'fatherly nature' as of late (or at least increased inclination) or perhaps his own fondness, he adjusted each of their collars. If they thought it odd, they made no comment, and he appreciated that much, giving each one a brief shoulder squeeze before taking lead. "To it, then."

-=-=-=-

Connor had remained silent during the entire trip, withdrawn and mostly unresponsive. This was it. They were going to do this. Get it done. His gloved fingers tightened around his recurve bow, it's familiar contours comforting. He was good with this bow, very good even... but he had never used it on a living being before. 

Its first kill would be human.

He stood still as Haytham straightened his collar and made sure they showed nothing that could betray their identities.

He felt strangely calm now, about to truly begin the raid. Oh, there was a level of excitement, sure, but it felt distant. Like it wasn't really his. What it meant he didn't know, but it was fine like this... it made it easier to focus on the job at hand.

The four guards Malik had mentioned came in sight soon enough as they crept through the bushes and thicket. They looked bored but there was no way of telling how alert they truly were. Nodding to each other, Altair and Haytham began moving away from him, one to the left and the other to the right, sneaking around until they were positioned on either side of the posted guards.

Connor remained where he was and silently lined up an arrow, raised it and pulled back the draw string, waiting for the signal. He didn't have to wait long; as soon as he heard the mimicked call of a song bird he released the draw string, letting the arrow fly. It cut through the silent jungle air, invisible in the dark of night and only made a sound when it was already too late, slamming into the skull of one of the guard with a satisfied _thunk._ The remaining three jumped onto their feet, watching their comrade fall with shocked, wide-eyed expressions, and two figures jumped out of the bushes during the distraction. As Altair and his father both took down a guard each, swiftly and silent, Connor lined up a second arrow with trembling fingers and let it loose, killing the last guard with another headshot before he could sound the alarm.

Slowly lowering the bow Connor stood up and slowly breathed out, watching the body slump to the jungle floor. 

_You just killed a man._

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the little voice in his head, berating him, accusing him. 

_You just took a life, willingly._ it continued. _How does that make you better than them?_

No... he wasn't like them. Who knew what kind of heinous acts these men had committed here? They were no better than Silas and Cutter. They deserved it! He was doing the right thing!

_You keep telling yourself that._

Growling Connor shook his head and blinked a few times, seeing that Haytham and Altair had finished dragging the bodies out of sight. He forced his legs to move and walked towards them, and Altair handed him the two arrows back, as well as one of the machetes and a pistol. "You okay?" He had killed before, in the military. This was nothing new to him, and he knew it was the same for Haytham. But this kid had never killed willingly before. If he couldn't handle this...

"I'm fine." Connor's voice was tight as he wiped the blood of his arrows and put them back in the quiver on his back. Altair eyes him closely, but eventually nodded anyway and pressed his finger against the small button on his ear piece. 

"Malik, we're going in. Keep us posted if you find anything."

_"Will do. Good luck, novice. All of you."_

Patting Connor's shoulder Altair stepped forward and raised his machine gun, finger on the trigger. They were ready. 

-=-=-=-

Execution was spot on, as was Connor's timing. The three troubled guards stood no chance, A blade driven through the neck of his own victim, a gurgle heard but little else as he slit skin. He fell in a heap, Altair's own man mimicking his, the fourth facing his demise the same way as the first, a brief look of surprise washing over him before the arrow pierced his skull.

Business. Perhaps his outlook should be different, but the cold light in his eyes shone no differently. It was Silas' way of thinking, and when dealing with culprits as these, he'd borrow it for the occasion.

It seemed Altair felt the same, stepping on the skull of a man to pull an arrow free, Connor approaching with wide eyes and trembling hands.

He'd feared this, but Altair beat him to it. He looked nothing akin to okay, but he'd no time to offer comfort, not that he even could. His first kill had been at age ten, protecting his home. No, he could not relate to this... and the only words he could muster wouldn't make it any better. He instead squeezed his shoulder but continued onward, dimly lit lanterns guiding through what were a variety of tunnel like halls. Pressing the ear piece, Haytham tuned in. "Anything to our left?"

 _"Nothing that would prevent travel, no."_ Malik eyed the screen again, a theoretical map that Haytham had managed to capture upon their last visit of this place. _"Recall, halfway through corridor seven, there was what seemed to be a post. Be wary of that."_

A click and his voice tuned out, Haytham raising his hand as footsteps approached. Not a vast number, but at least two men. He waited but for a moment, signaling for Altair to move to his left, waiting until two profiles came into view. Just two, thankfully.

The gurgled groan of one man was dulled, and it was skill that had Altair twisting and snapping the neck of the second with out a sound. Haytham himself stuck to the dagger in his possession, and beyond the small splatters of blood no evidence remained of foul play, save for their bodies. They dragged them into the vacant corridor of to the side. If they could remain a secret, an unknown presence for longer the better the chance of finding Silas and Cutter.

It worked this way for some time, until half way through the grimy, dim tunnels. The post Malik had mentioned was in fact there, and there was little way of avoiding what seemed to be a hang out area. Not numerous amounts, but at least five men talked and laughed, Haytham's eyes darting from Altair to Connor. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to subject his son to anything but if they were to remain unknown-

"On my mark." The machine gun weighed heavy on him now, but he'd not use it unless necessity called. They were unaware, the element of surprise on their side. Hopefully, this would not change that.

-=-=-=-

"Wait, how do you wanna do this?" Altair hissed. "I can't read your fucking brain." Ignoring the glare he received he peeked around the corner again; he counted six men, of which two were standing near what looked to be a bar of something. "Connor."

"Yes?"

"How quick are you at reloading that thing of yours?"

Frowning Connor looked down at his bow and blinked. "Uh... pretty fast, but-"

"Hm. Alright, you shoot one of the guys standing near the bar. As soon as the arrow hits him, everyone close your eyes and I'll throw in a flash bomb. Then we rush in and finish them before they can sound the alarm."

Say what now? Pressing his lips into a thin line Connor carefully leaned around Altair to peek around the corner as well, swiftly noting the general location of the two standing guards. Altair's plan was good but it had some holes and they all knew it. There was little other choice though. Even if they managed to kill all the men inside before one of them could sound the alarm, their screams could and probably would still alert the other guards.

Cursing softly he reached behind him and pulled an arrow out of his quiver and lined it up; it was this, or go back, and that wasn't an option. His eyes briefly met those of his father, and Connor took one very deep breath as Altair readied a flash bomb. As soon as Connor stepped into the open doorway he pulled the bow string back and swung his aim towards one of the standing guards; the sharp arrow head slammed between the man's shoulder blades before anyone had even noticed him. They all jumped up as the force of the shot toppled the guard's body over the bar, outraged cries drowning out of the soft 'clink' of the flash bomb hitting the floor.  
Quickly squeezing his eyes shut Connor turned his head away, and even through his eyelids he saw the bright flash blinding the men inside.

"Go go go!"

Squinting he saw how Altair charged into the room and grabbed one of the guards by the hair to pull his head back, exposing his throat for his blade to slice. Connor didn't need much more incentive than that and quickly hooked his bow over his shoulder to switch it with the machete; training had definitely paid off, allowing him to easily dodge around the blinded guards as they flailed around with their weapons. The guards were quickly taken care off, bleeding out of gaping throats or sliced open stomachs, but their initial screams must have alerted the others, just as they had feared. They quickly ducked behind an upturned table as footsteps and furious yelling in Indonesian neared, and then, seconds later, the loud siren of an alarm.

Someone fired a gun, and Connor ducked even lower as he felt bullet slam into the table they were hiding behind. Oh god, they were screwed! They were sitting ducks here!

"If they toss a grenade in here we're fucked!" Altair hissed and grabbed the pistol he had taken earlier, quickly peeking over the table and firing. An abrupt yell, and he had to duck again as someone fired on the table once more.

 _"Altair, what's going on?"_ They could all hear Malik's voice over their communicators and Altair pressed his finger against the button. 

"We're trapped, that's what is going on!"

_"Fuck... where are you? Still at the post?"_

"Yes, but-"

Connor didn't hear the rest of the conversation, his attention turning to an open doorway to the side. He wasn't sure what made him look, he just did, just in time to see two figures run through the corridor, away from them.

He'd recognize that gait anywhere.

A hate, so sudden, so fierce he couldn't control it, bubbled up inside of him, like a parasite, spreading through every corner of his body until he was shaking in rage. Silas and Cutter we're trying to get away, and he wouldn't let them!  
As soon as Altair and Haytham fired their weapons Connor jumped upright and sprinted away, bursting through the open doorway; he'd get them. He'd fucking get them!

"Connor, where the hell are you going?!"

Ignoring Altair's frantic yelling he sprinted around the corner, chasing after his targets. Oh, deep down he knew that this was stupid and wrong. He was leaving Altair and his _father_ behind, trapped and hopelessly outnumbered, but he couldn't allow these men to escape again!  
His father was strong, he'd pull through. There was nothing he couldn't do. He and Altair would get out of the situation alive, but _this_ was something he had to do _alone._

His communicator buzzed and within moments Malik was yelling in his ear. _"Connor, you stupid fuck! Get your ass back to the others!"_ One of them, either Cutter or Silas, he couldn't tell, fired a gun and Connor quickly ducked behind a pillar. The bullet clipped a piece off and he immediately set chase again, ignoring Malik's yells and demands.

 _"What the fuck are you doing? You can't just leave them there, what the hell is wrong with you?! Why are you even ru-"_ Gritting his teeth Connor ripped the earpiece away and threw it on the floor.

~*~

"The fuck..." Blinking Malik stared down at his screen. Connor's line had gone silent, the feed from his end dead. Suddenly. Just like that.

"Shit shit shit...!" This was _exactly_ what they had been trying to prevent! That stupid brat, why wouldn't he listen? What if he had gotten shot and lay bleeding out in a corridor somewhere with no way to locate him?

"Goddammit." Picking up his headset again Malik turned the feed back to Haytham. This was not good. Not good at all!

-=-=-=-

Haytham ignored him, blatantly, if only because the plan was obvious. Don't attract attention. Do not get caught. And above all else, do not separate from the pack. A simple quick somersault along the floor and he leaned against the wall opposite them, the corridor empty. Separation was death in circumstances like these. With five men outnumbering them, it wasn’t an issue of strength, but rather that one would survive long enough to scream. 

Sub machine gun at the ready, he let Altair and Connor talk strategies, checking the rounds; full, for the most part, bullets in the chamber. There was truly no way to avoid being found out, it was about to occur. They could simply muscle through it and survive with minimal injury.  
Altair’s plan would have to do, and he caught the weary look in Connor’s eye, throat thick. Nothing would happen to him, not on his life would he allow for any misfortune to come his way under his command.

His aim remained deadly, accurate- eyes averted quickly, avoiding the flash grenade’s glare as he allowed Altair and Connor to go through first, close behind-

“Shit!” The bullet missed him but just barely, Haytham forced to turn and abandon post, camping what was five feet from the corridor, slightly into the next hall. They were in there, damn it, his son and Altair. The room could easily be overrun, bottle necked-

No. Panicking would solve nothing. It was far from silent, but he knew guards had seen him come this way, and into his pocket he pulled it out, a small compact mirror. Flattening himself to the wall, he lifted it slowly, counting three approaching, searching for him cautiously. Three paces… he was lucky the gun was full, the click may have alerted a passerby. In three pace range, he’d shoot.

He heard distinctive yelling, and for a moment recognized it as Altair’s voice. Son of a bitch. They were farther than he wanted them to be, but he’d no choice.

He wouldn’t waste a flash grenade with his plan, Haytham dropping to his knees mid corridor. Aiming wasn’t the key here, but rather speed, and his finger didn’t twitch as he pressed the trigger, a shower of bullets striking the men approaching him from the knee and upward. It garnered the attention of two other guards, but they could do little, Haytham's finger on the trigger and aiming, a hail of bullets hitting one while the other-

He blinked, the kick back striking his shoulder heavily. Shit, shit, the fucking thing jammed now?

Onto his feet as quickly as he could, the second guard seemed stunned but was quick enough to pull out a pistol. Thankfully, he was too quick to take a proper shot at, the brick an inch away from Haytham’s head taking the brunt of the blow. Lifting the gun, Haytham threw it toward the man, unsheathing his dagger again and slashing once, twice, three times, until he struck the jugular. A fountain spurted, and he turned, Malik’s voice in his ear. _“Haytham-“_

“It’s alright, I’ve got them.” Altair had already peaked, rearing to stand, and Haytham gestured. “Let’s go, come now Connor-“  
But a look behind the table revealed nothing. No, there was no body there. A blink and grey eyes were rapid to take in what were angry amber. 

“He fucking ran off!”

 _“That’s why I phoned you.”_ Malik’s voice remained calmer than Altair’s but the bite was unmistakable. _“He took off a minute or so ago-“_

“I tried to stop him! Stupid, immature little brat-“

The words echoed, resonated, and Haytham’s voice was not absent of a slight hitch. “Where? In what direction, to what end?”

“Right, definitely right and I don’t fuckin’ know-“

And it wasn’t the time for this conversation. More guards would appear, any minute. He could but nod, checking the perimeter, the corridors empty for the moment. A little further along where the cells, containing prisoners… but Connor-

“Where is he, Malik?” A touch of anger, disappointment, resentment, rage- all of it into a few short words. And since they first met, it was the first time Malik hesitated only slightly. 

_“We lost connection. I believe he removed the communicator.”_

Haytham’s eyes shut, lips pressed to a thin line. Silence form both ends, even as they moved through the corridors. It was the unasked question ricocheting off the dingy walls; what did they do now? Haytham was his father after all, but to look for him in this situation was beyond dangerous. Not with hundreds of armed and angry guards and spectators roaming about.

And Altair could but pity him in his silence. Haytham didn’t need to say a thing, he screamed tension, anger. Lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke again.

“We don’t know if he’s alive.” The cold truth, and he shivered. “So, we will have to assume the worst until communication is restored, and go about our mission.” That was Plan B after all. If one fell, they would go about the mission, only retreating afterwards. Altair faltered, exhaling. “Haytham-“

“As of now it’s for your own protection that you follow my order.” Indeed it was, and Altair knew that, but his own son… oh just wait until he saw Connor again! 

The pair moved deeper into the temple, soot giving way to dusty sand floors, closer to the ‘pit’ animals. That immature, stupid fuck!

Malik had remained silent himself, frowning. _“Remember, they’re in rusted old cages. There’s a good chance without keys the cells aren’t built to hold up under pressure. With proper leverage you can remove a few, perhaps for those fit enough to walk before guard infiltration begins.”_

“Perfect, yes.” Gruff but respectable was Haytham’s response, Malik completely serious as he pressed the button once more.

_“Haytham.”_

“Yes?”

 _“I’m going to scream at him when he enters the van.”_ Not if. When. And for the briefest of moments his lips twitched. Yes, when. Perhaps the lad could survive this… just perhaps…

The sound of gunfire cut off thoughts, Altair and he needing to take cover behind cells, a number of guards beginning to trickle in. No point in worrying if Connor was alive if he and Altair died in the process! Readying a flash grenade, grey met amber, Haytham’s head still held high, chin upturned. ‘On your ready Altair.”

Altair could but nod, his own weapons visible. “Luckily enough I was born ready.”

-=-=-=-

"Silas."

"I know!"

Glancing over his shoulder as he ran, Cutter pressed his hand against his cramping side, breath coming out with ragged gasps. They were under attack, that much was clear, but how? Who? It wasn't the police, that much was clear. From what he had heard it was only a handful of people... so who?

"Silas, they-"

"I _know!_ Shut up and keep running!"

Nearly tripping over his feet Cutter stumbled, flaying to keep his balance before he ran after his boss again. Someone had been chasing them, but whether he was still after them now he couldn't tell. He wouldn't wait to find out though. "What about Micheletto?" he asked as the corridor finally came to a dead end, with only one locked door providing a barrier between escaping, and dying here.

"The bastard's gonna have to take care of himself. It's not my fault his security lacks." Silas muttered as he knelt down in front of the door and eyed the keyhole. "I don't have the key for this door... cover me."

Nodding Cutter turned and raised his pistol again, keeping his finger on the trigger as he peered into the dark corridor they had came from. No sign of movement yet. In the distance he could hear gunfire, and behind him he heard the soft clicks of Silas' tools trying to work open the lock on the door. "Do you think it's Kenway?" He had to ask. He had to know. Kenway clearly wasn't the kind of man to give up easily, but he had hoped that after getting his son back, he'd leave it at that.

But what if he hadn't?

"I don't know." Silas grumbled as he worked, fingers trembling as his anger bubbled. Just _thinking_ about that fucker and his snotty brat of a boy made his blood boil! They had cost him so much, nearly everything he had owned! His den in Brazil, _his precious merchandise!_ Gone! Oh how he would love to be the one to put a bullet between Kenway's eyes. He didn't care much for the boy, Cutter could have him, but Haytham Kenway, ooooh how he wanted to be the one to snuff his lights out!

The sudden blams of a pistol made him look up sharply; Cutter was firing into the dark corridor but he seemed to be shooting at random, not really aiming at one particular place. "Cutter!" he snapped, and the man suddenly seized firing, his breath coming out with gasps.

"I... thought I saw movement..." he muttered and Silas bristled, turning his attention back on the look.

"Fucking idiot, don't waste your ammo!" With a click the door finally unlocked. Standing up he stuffed his lock picks into his pocket and pushed the door open, peering into the dark corridor ahead. It would lead right into the jungle, it was one of the temple's escape routes should something like this happen. He slipped through and Cutter turned as well, keeping his pistol raised as he faced the door... which was closed. "Silas!" Dropping the pistol he threw himself against the door and pulled on the handle, but it refused to budge. "Silas, open the door!" 

The panic in his voice was unmistakable now, but Silas ignored it and put the last barricade against the door to keep it from opening. "If you survive this," he muttered, loud enough to be heard through the material of the door, "I'll probably be at Robert's place. Come find me there."

"Silas! Silas, open the door, please!" No response, and Cutter banged his fists against it. Silas was leaving him here, running off to save his own hide! Gritting his teeth he blinked through the tears and turned away from the door, quickly snatching his pistol off the ground. He'd have to find another way out of this place, but in case they were still being chased... He aimed into the corridor, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. It was pitch black in there, the lights in the corridor must have gone out at some point. He couldn't see a fucking thing!

"Show yourself, you coward!" he yelled, hoping to lure whoever-it-was to reveal himself, so he could put a bullet between his fucking eyes and get out of here!

Seconds ticked by though, and nothing happened. No movement, no sound of footsteps, nothing. Maybe the guy had given up, or maybe he _had_ hit him earlier. Slowly easing out his breath Cutter lowered his pistol and began to rise, when suddenly the harsh swoosh of something cutting through the air reached him before it slammed into his shoulder with enough force to knock him off his feet. The pistol slipped from his fingers as he fell down onto his back with a grunt, sharp pain flaring up from his shoulder and when he opened his eyes they nearly bulged out of his skull as he looked at the source of the pain.

An arrow?!

And that's when he heard it. Footsteps. Gripping the shaft with one hand Cutter turned his attention back on the corridor and this time he caught it, movement in the shadows, drawing closer. It was a man, a large man, dressed in black from head to toe. There was a bow in his right hand, and his face was hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and a scarf.

"Wh-who are you?" he stammered and tried to push himself backwards with his feet as the man neared. He said nothing as he pressed a heavily booted foot on his arm and reached down, gripping the arrow's shaft and yanked it out of his shoulder with one hard pull. A scream lodged into his throat and Cutter rolled onto his side, whimpering as he gripped onto his shoulder, and through the haze of tears he watched as the man picked up the discarded pistol off the floor and took out the magazine, stuffing it into his pocket. Who the hell was this guy?! Was it...?

"... Kenway?"

The man stiffened, and turned again to look at him. "Close." he mumbled and reached up to remove his cap, letting it flutter to the floor The scarf and the sunglasses followed and Cutter's eyes widened as he looked at him; that mohawk, and those brown eyes... he'd recognize those anywhere! He couldn't help it... this was the _last_ person he had expected to see here, yet here he was. It was hilarious! "Boy-o." he sneered and slowly climbed onto his feet, keeping one hand pressed against his bleeding shoulder. "So I was almost right. It told Silas that it might be yer dad. 'E's around here too somewhere, innit he? Heh, you've gotten big."

He allowed his eyes to roam over Connor's large frame; the black made it hard to see, but he really had filled out. Just thinking about the possibilities made his cock stir in his pants; the kid had been a good fuck before, but like this... "Yer lookin' for another lesson then, is that it?" he asked and gestured around. "There was no need for all of this. If it's a good fuck yer after, you only need to ask me nicely."

Connor's expression remained unchanged, but Cutter could see the familiar glaze in his eyes; the hate, the anger, barely kept under control. The boy definitely looked like he had himself under control, but he was slipping, it was plain as day. The way his fists trembled, his shoulders shook, how the muscles in his jaw bulged and his nostrils flared each time he breathed in. Oh no, this boy was on the verge of snapping, and Cutter remembered the last time he had made the boy snap; it had ended with his bloodied face in the sand and his ass in the air.

He watched as Connor gently placed his bow on the ground and pushed it to the wall with his foot. His quiver came off next, followed by a pistol and a machete. "No weapons." he said as he placed them on the floor as well. "Just you and me."

Cutter smirked. "Fair enough." This was perfect...

~*~

"Fuck!"

Stumbling backwards Cutter pressed his hand to his heavily bleeding nose, trying to stem the flow of blood. One of his teeth had gotten knocked loose and he grimaced, spitting the thing on the ground before he looked up to face his opponent.

They couldn't have been at this for more than a few minutes but he had barely been able to even get a blow in! Connor had deflected nearly each and everyone of them, turning it to his own advantage to retaliate with a punch or a kick of his own, and the few times Cutter had managed to land a hit on him, the boy had simply shrugged it off. Or perhaps he didn't even feel it... Cutter wasn't sure anymore. He was _nothing_ like the whimpering boy he had encountered in Brazil! How had he gotten _this good?!_

The part that worried him the most was the look in those brown eyes. Anger and hate, yes, but now he knew why it had looked familiar to him. Some of the pit dogs had that same look in their eyes when they were going in for a fight; the desire to win, to kill. It were the eyes of someone out to spill blood, fuck the consequences.

His blood.

"L-look, boy-o." Lowering his hand he looked at his bloodied palm and pressed it against his nose again, his voice coming out muffled. "Why don't you come with me, eh? I could make ya famous! I can make ya a champion! You'll have... have everythin' you could possibly ask for! Money, power, women, everything! I promise!" His feet shuffled backwards as fast they could as Connor neared. "Look, we can talk this over, alright? Just... just lemme explain! I-"

"Did you make Kadar the same offer?"

Cutter blinked. "Who?"

That had been the wrong thing to say. Connor's expression scrunched up and he bolted forward, too fast for Cutter to dive away, and slammed him into the wall. "The one I shared a cell with!" he yelled and pulled on Cutter's clothes, yanking him away from the wall before throwing his whole weight against him again. "The one you made me fight!" Again Connor jerked him away from the wall only to ram him back against the thick stone, ignoring Cutter's yelps and struggles. "The one you made me beat to death while my father was watching! That one!"

Fisting his collar Connor brought his face close, expression scrunched into a grimace, and Cutter quickly shook his head. "L-look! I was only followin' orders, alright? I wasn't the boss in there, not the one in charge! Silas was! I only did as I was told!"

"Where is he? Where is Silas? Where is Lee?!"

"I don't know! I don-" The heavy fist to the face shut him up and his vision swam as he was pulled away from the wall once more and thrown to the floor. Connor was on top of him in seconds, pinning him down and ramming his fist into face over and over again. His nose broke further under the barrage of blows and his lower jaw cracked under the force, shooting horrible pain through his skull. Connor's own knuckles split and his fingers were quickly getting numb, but he did not stop until Cutter own hands trying to push him away finally fell back down to the floor, leaving him a whimpering, shaking mess, face swollen, broken and bloodied.

"Where are they?" He hissed the words out and grabbed Cutter's collar again, hoisting him up, but all that came out was a strained whimper. Baring his teeth he brought his face closer and screamed: "WHERE ARE THEY?!", not realizing that Cutter was unable to answer him with a broken jaw, and it wasn't until he felt the sudden flaring pain in his thigh that he let go of his collar and jerked back.

Cutter's hand fell away from the shiv he had driven deep into his leg and Connor blinked, watching the blood well up around the blade with a dazed look in his eyes. It hurt, he knew it hurt, but it was like the pain wasn't fully registering yet. His hand trembled as he gripped the shiv's handle and pulled, yanking it out of his thigh with a grunt, staring down at it.

He had said, no weapons. No fucking weapons! And yet here it was! Leave it to Cutter to lie about that too! Eyes flashing he gripped the handle tightly and raised his hand, Cutter's eyes widening before he rammed the shiv in the man's chest. Cutter jerked, a strangled yelp of pain leaving his throat, and Connor raised the blade before stabbing it down once more. And again.

Again.

Again.

In his face, his throat, his chest and his abdomen; blood squirted and spurted out of slashed veins and gaping wounds, getting into his face and dripping down his nose. He heard horrible gurgles as Cutter choked on his own blood, his lungs filling with the liquid as ribs snapped. Another spray of blood as the blade nicked an major artery in his throat and still Connor kept going, kept going as Cutter's body twitched and trashed, limbs flailing in the throes of death, and kept going even as it finally stilled.

With one last, enraged cry Connor slammed the shiv deep into Cutter throat and let go of it, slowly sitting up straight as his senses returned to him. The smell of blood hit him like a brick in the face, and he scrambled away from Cutter, kicking out at his body in his haste to get away.

Cutter was dead. He was dead, but he didn't feel the euphoria, the sense of accomplishment he had expected to feel. One glance at the broken body Connor's stomach finally rebelled against him and he quickly turned to his hands and knees, heaving and gagging as the half digested bits of dinner he had eaten splattered on the stone floor and crept into its crevices, leaving a horrible bitter taste behind.

Disgust. That's what he felt. He had gone in here to kill Cutter, and he had done so... but not like that. His plan had been to simply shoot him, to not even waste time or breath on the man because he hadn't deserved it. But one look at Cutter... Connor knew he had completely lost control here, and it wasn't the first time it had happened either.

But never this bad.

His injured leg buckled as he tried to stand, and he winced, gripping his bleeding thigh tightly. Limping over to where he had left his weapons, Connor used the scarf as a makeshift bandage, tying it tightly around the wound. The sunglasses and cap he stuffed into his pocket before he picked up his weapons. He had to find dad, and Altair. He had left them... were they okay? Were they injured?

Or dead even?

Pressing his hand against his mouth he closed his eyes, needing a moment to get his breathing under control again, and then turned to Cutter's body. He couldn't leave it here. He needed... proof that he was dead. Limping his way back to the body he reached down and grabbed Cutter's ankle, beginning to slow job of dragging it with him on his search of his father.

~*~

"The office should be near by." Peering at the crude map, Malik ran his finger over the drawn pathways. Altair and Haytham were in this corridor and from the little bits of information he had gathered he could deduct that the office was around here somewhere. "Be careful though... whoever is in charge of this place might be waiting for you there."

_"Got it. Keep us posted."_

Malik nodded and eyed the window of the van again. Still no sign of Connor. He hated to admit it, but the chance that he would survive in there, alone... He shook his head and closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was unlikely... stupid kid. Why had he done that? What about Haytham? There'd be nothing left for him-

_"Malik."_

Dark eyes snapped open. That voice, it wasn't Altair or Haytham! He knocked over his coffee in his haste to fully restore communication with Connor's line, and grabbed his microphone. "Connor?! You stupid, moronic fuck! What the hell were you thinking running off like that?! Do you have any idea how worried we were, how worried you dad is?"

_"S... sorry, I... where's dad? Is dad alright?"_

"He's _fine,_ and so is Altair, thanks for asking!" Blood hell, what would sorry get him? "Where the fuck did you go?! You answer me right now!"

_"W-where is he, Malik? Where's m-my dad?"_

Malik's jaw closed with a clack, cutting off his furious rant. There was something odd about Connor's tone; strained and thick and rough, it was impossible to ignore the tremor in his voice. Taking a deep breath Malik closed his eyes and opened them again. "Connor, are you alright? Are you injured?"

_"I... um... w-where's dad? I have something to s-show him."_

Goddammit... what was wrong with Connor? "Where are you?"

_"I'm n-not sure... um, close tot he f-first post I think. It's dark."_

"Alright, just... calm down. I can guide you to where your father is. Just listen closely to my instructions. Once you reach the room go through the door directly opposite of where you initially entered, it's behind the bar. Follow the hallway and go right as soon as you can. Let me know when you get there, you shouldn't run into any opposition."

_"O-okay..."_

Fucking brat, he better be alright, Malik thought as he turned to Haytham's line to inform him.

-=-=-=-

Behind crates and barrels, crammed together. They could only wait for the fire to cease but it seemed so incredibly unlikely. A dozen, Altair had counted and Haytham had verified it as quickly as they could; a dozen guards, more armed then the rest, a loud bark of a voice echoing when the fire ceased for just a moment.

"Surrender now, and face a peaceful death. Torture is worse than gun fire, no?"

The same torture they'd evoked on Connor and Kadar. It resonated with both of them, Altair silent and still, save for trembling fingers. "Tell me you have a plan."

"Yes." Haytham was to remain clear of mind, emotions could not get involved. He knew this, repeated it, even as another threat came there way, above the obvious sound of ammunition being reloaded. 

"C'mon now, you're talented to have made it thus far." A sneer, and the nameless, faceless man boomed. "I'll make you stars in the pit, and I can promise a... thoroughly enticing time elsewhe-"

 _"Haytham?"_

He barely heard Malik over the sound of renewed gun fire, gut twisting. All of this because of what Cutter, Silas, and Lee did. All of this for raping and torturing his son. Whom he'd _lost._

"Yes?" The connection blurred, and he heard very little, Malik's voice drifting in and cutting out. He made out the bits and pieces through the static.

_"Sorry... Connor... need to locate you quickly... dead."_

Time didn't still, it stopped. Everything around him just fucking _stopped._

Altair's eyes widened considerably, and even in the circumstance he allowed himself the moment to grab Haytham's shoulder and squeeze. He'd never seen that look in his eyes. An apology wouldn't right this! Nothing could.

Gritting his teeth in frustration Altair ducked further down as the gun fire drew closer, one hand still on Haytham's shoulder. Even under the layers of clothing, he could feel him tremble.

"Haytham..." He didn't mean to sound insensitive, really. But this... he pulled out a flash grenade, lips set into a thin line. "We'll retreat, regroup... figure this out-"

In an instant it was knocked from his hand, an actual grenade taken from Haytham's bag and held a for a few seconds after he pulled the small lever, throwing it in the direction of the men and tossing Altair back, a surprised sound between a gasp and groan. Haytham leaped to his feet after the explosion. Even in the rapid development of their situation, Altair would never forget the enraged scream that tore from Haytham's throat, gun clutched between his finger as he fired, repeatedly. It took him a moment, but Altair followed suit, the duo able to charge forward, over the small pile of rubble and a number of bodies. 

Bodies dropped, some silently as skull fragments painted the walls and floors, other in screams of pain, forever to be silenced by Haytham pulling the trigger. Running out of ammunition, Haytham turned to his dagger, each throat sliced in what were swift, chaotic swipes. It was a rarity for Altair to ever admire skill, but he did. Efficient and quick, no movement wasted as Haytham tore through the group of injured, confused men, sparing only one.

Said man wheezed, the leader, a vice like grip squeezing him until his eyes almost bulged, Haytham only lessening his grip as Altair made a simple demand. "Keys, _now."_

A gurgle was all that met them, grey eyes twitching and his grip tightened further. Eyes reddened, and a blossom of liquid exploded down the man's leg, Altair physically nudging Haytham. He acquiesced begrudgingly, wordlessly, eyes narrowed and teeth bared as he literally growled, snarling. "He said KEYS, you _cretin!"_

A trembling hand reached towards his belt, Altair's outstretched hand closing over the keys. There weren't many, probably all the same lock, and Altair began unlocking the cells, very aware of the man's pleas.

"I can get you anything you desire-"

Teeth snarled, pulse throbbing in his neck as Haytham's grip tightened. "Can you bring back my son?" Both hands lifted, the man dangling from his grip, feet well off the ground and kicking out. Haytham ignored every single one. "Can you give me back every morning and evening, every waking hour I've spent, training, preparing, caring-" No, no one could fill what would be his empty bed. Not a person would curl up to him that way. Nor could they finally create a tea worthy of him to drink.

Nor could they tease him, irritate him, leave a lingering scent amongst his sheets. His throat tightened, tensing, thick, and his arm shook with a strain of different sorts. This mans death wouldn't change that. And yet...

He dropped him and slit his throat with the end of his dagger, staring his eyes away from the fountain of blood that gushed forth. Altair had moved rapidly, perhaps sensing he was in no state to help, unlocking the cages, dozens of them. Haytham could do little more than offer support, nodding as each freed man ran off, some with thanks. Those to weak would receive the medical attention they needed. They'd saved dozens in this rescue... dozens of lives and murmured thanks, a few tears shed by some. Fewer still physically hugged them both before running as far as their legs could carry.

And through it there was no sense of pride.

The in and out buzz of Malik continued, the reception horrid, words unable to be heard. It hardly mattered. Haytham heard all that was necessary, Altair and he silently made their way into what appeared to be an office. There had been no sign of Cutter and Silas, and he vaguely wondered if they had even been here; they'd escaped, no doubt. Unlike his own son.

"Haytham, we should get... going." They needed the information, but then... the ambulances would need be called. And they would leave Haytham alone.

"... I need to see him."

Grey met amber, and any retort or comment otherwise fled him at the sight of misted grey eyes. Soaked in blood and grime, splatters across the two of them, the man now wanted to find what could be the eviscerated remains of his son.

"You won't like what you find."

"I know." How his voice remained neutral was a mystery, Altair waiting by the computer, the buzz of the malfunctioning ear pieces finally stopping. He did know, really he did.

"I need to see him one last time." He could give him no proper burial without suspicion being raised. No mourners to send their well wishes. But he would see his son again, and apologize for everything.

Especially for failing him.

-=-=-=-

Altair sighed. Honestly, they did not have time for this. They had no idea where Connor was and they were running out of time. They had to call the police and get out of here.

Still, he simply could not say no to the look on Haytham's face, and the plea in his voice when he spoke his desire to see his son one last time.

"Malik? Can you hear me?" Mostly static, he could hear a view garbled bits of whatever Malik was saying through the noise; it seemed that they were too deep in the temple to retain a good connection. It would get better once they made their way back. Altair's eyes fell on a laptop, sitting opened on the desk. Stepping over a few bodies he rounded it and took a peek at the screen, closed the lid and picked it up. Possibly there was some information on here that could be interesting... Malik could take a look at it later.

Altair kept a close eye on Haytham as they made their way back, following the trail of bodies they had left behind. He remained on edge, holding his gun with his free hand just in case someone surprised them. Here and there he could see prisoners huddling together in tight corners with tears on their faces, others running seemingly lost and in panic. Poor sobs... the sooner they got help, the better... before they did something stupid like run into the jungle in the dead of night. They'd never survive that.

Before reaching the office they had encountered a large group of what he assumed were the paying customers hiding in a room; just the mere thought that anyone would be willing to _pay money_ to see people beat and kill each other for their entertainment _sickened_ him. They had locked the bastards into the room and sprayed the words 'arrest us' on the door with a can of graffiti paint he had brought along.

"Wait." He stuck out his arm to stop Haytham, and nodded his head; the corridor up ahead was dark, most of the ceiling lights shot to pieces in the firefight earlier, but in the flickering lights of the few that still worked he could see the silhouette of a man walking towards him. No, not really walking... there was a notable limp in his step, and he was slightly turned. He also seemed to be dragging something big with him, something... was that a body?!

Raising his machine gun Altair kept his finger on the trigger, the muzzle aimed at the figure walking towards them, and grit his teeth. "Not another step or I'll pump you full of lead!" he warned loudly, and the figure stopped. The leg of the body he was holding dropped as he let go and Altair frowned as the man took another few steps forward, the light hitting his bloodied face.

He nearly dropped both his machine gun and the laptop. "Holy fuck..."

-=-=-=-

Altair's ability to remain calm, or close to calm, was a help he'd never forget. There was no adequate thanks to offer; he'd taken the lap top, spray painted the request along the door, and even now followed through corridors. They shouldn't even search the area, far too much danger present yet...

Again, the understanding received was beyond expression or gratitude. His own weapon remained drawn but he was void, a perpetual walking zombie in a state of dulled emotion. He'd lost Connor, an odd piece that filled two separate entities and made him undeniably whole.

To worsen the injury, he hadn't seen Silas nor Cutter. It was likely they were, perhaps absent, as luck may have it. He'd no justice in his final moments, only the dim lull of death in some damp corridor in a corner of the world devoid of pleasantry. No less, he was in part to blame, the outcome could have been foreseeable.

A sudden halt thwarted further thought, Altair threatening to fire. Grey eyes squinted, it was far too dim to make out the figure, lights flickering as the massive figure approached, dragging what appeared to be a ...

Corpse.

His own gun was readied, as the figure approached, flickering light making visible the dark, blood soaked features. Grime, filth, cuts, and a limp in his step, and Haytham watched the pleading face of his-

He fumbled with his gun, before placing it on the floor. He was seeing things, mistaken, wishfully conjuring images that were not real. Altair would fire, and. With that the mirage would vanish to hopefully leave him unhaunted.

"Holy fuck..."

His breath hitched and Haytham, for a change, had nothing to say. Not a word left him, as he took what was a step further, and another, until he was almost face to face with what appeared to be his son.

Bloody, trembling, visibly shaken but so very tangible, so very _alive._

"Connor." Shutting his eyes, Haytham exhaled, the world shrinking to consume only the two of them, and whatever he'd managed to drag along.

'Remain calm.' His son's eyes glazed over and that limp... before anything, he asked, voice visibly strained. "Are you badly injured, lad?" All he received was a shake of the head and a stuttered no.

Good.

He recoiled his arm and extended with a crack, knuckles colliding with what was skull, and he watched his son stagger. It was only then that Altair intervened, stepping forward, but Haytham had no intent on continuing, averting his gaze so none would see the evidence of his shame. It could not be kept from his voice, however.

"I thought you _dead._ You stupid, inconsiderate, idiotic fuck! I thought you dead!"

-=-=-=-

Connor took another step forward, eyes gliding from Haytham to Altair and back to his father again. They were okay. They were _alive!_ He reached out with trembling finger to grab the tight material of his father's shirt, and shook his head. No... no, he wasn't injured badly. It was just his leg and it hurt, but it would be fine. It wasn't a problem, it-

_Wham!_

Connor didn't see the punch coming, Haytham's fist colliding with his cheek hard enough to sent him staggering backwards. Barely managing to keep his balance Connor pressed his hand to the throbbing bruise already forming and closed his eyes as Haytham snapped at him.

He supposed he had that coming, the harsh words and the punch. It was deserved, for making them worry.

Altair remained between them, eying them both and ready to jump in should this turn into a fight. Connor looked fucking miserable, shaking with dried blood flaking on his skin. There was so much of it, on his face, in his hair, on his hands and soaking in his clothes. Craning his neck he looked at the body Connor had dragged with him, and Altair grimaced. He couldn't see any details from this far away, but that had _not_ been a clean kill. Quite the opposite.

"I found Cutter." Connor's whisper cut through the thick silence that had fallen between them, and Altair looked at him again. The boy's eyes were open again, disturbingly wide though there were no traces of tears.

"S-silas got away." Altair swallowed thickly as Connor dropped his hand and took another shaky step towards his father, and another. "They were fleeing... I h-had to..." Reaching out again his fingers curling into the black material of Haytham's shirt and Connor leaned forward, burying his face into his neck. His other arm slipped around his father's back and held him tightly, almost as if he was afraid he'd disappear if he let go. "I had to.... I had to..." The words sounded muffled against his shoulder and Altair looked up trying to meet Haytham's eyes.

-=-=-=-

Cutter. That's who the mangled heap of flesh was. And Silas had managed to slip away...

He supposed it was no surprise. Cutter- while violent and heinous- was cut from a different cloth than Silas. No, he was a 'business man', a proprietor and investor. If any man had the intellectual capacity to escape guilt and harm free, it was him.

Cutter hadn't simply died, that was evident. Connor was drenched in blood, flaking to his skin, hair, face- it made the look in what were doe eyes all the more alarming. He'd eviscerated Cutter, and while Haytham could certainly understand the desire to do so, acting out on such impulse is what could have gotten him killed, and even them.

He would force himself to remain stern, if not angry in that regard.

Connor's touch however was found to be more tolerable, his obvious state of emotional instability apparent. "I had to... I had to..."

Amber eyes met his, as his massive son, so muscular and broad that he dwarfed most in comparison, buried his face into his neck, arm tight around him, enough to make breathing difficult. His anger did not dwindle, nor did his resolve, but at the end of it all, he was alive.

Arms followed suit, one hand buried into dark hair, the other playing along the sweat dampened shirt, stroking up and down his back.

"You didn't have to, not alone." Lips pressed to his temple in what was a fatherly kiss, a brief peck. It wasn't whispered, but spoken firmly, but gently. "There is nothing you need do alone, Connor. It's why we're here." And as much as he'd like to continue, they needed to get a move on. He did however meet amber eyes, and tapped his ear piece, to alert Malik as to their whereabouts. But he allowed himself the one thought aloud, directed at both of them. "Your efforts here today freed dozens. While some were more reckless than others-" He parted from Connor to meet his eyes, arm loosely wrapped around his shoulders and staying their, "... the effort was impressive. You've a lot to be proud of."

And with that said, Haytham tapped his bag, gesturing to Connor. "Time to make the call..." He paused, before peering at his leg. "... need I aid your plight or do you prefer to manage?" They'd talk more later, far away from the death and decay of this place. First thing first, leave, change, and then drinks. A lot of drinks, on him.

-=-=-=-

"I can manage..." Connor reluctantly pulled away but he kept one hand buried in his father's shirt. Altair took the disposable phone from Haytham and stepped away, giving them some privacy as he rang the Bali police. As expected the officer on the other hand did not take him seriously, laughing at his story until Altair aimed his machine gun at the ceiling and fired a few shots to shock him into silence. Checking the GPS he gave the now quiet officer the coordinates of the temple and told him to have plenty of medical teams ready before he promptly hung up. "Done." he muttered and dropped the phone on the floor before raising his foot and slammed his heel into the device, crushing and grinding it into pieces. "Lets get the fuck out of here."

Connor cast the bloodied corpse of Cutter one last glance, swallowing thickly and finally turned his back on it. He hadn't gotten Silas, but this was one big step forward nonetheless.

The exit of the temple was easily found; Connor kept up with them for the most part as they ran back to where they had stashed the van, informing Malik that they were on their way, but eventually Haytham had to help his son forward when his leg refused to hold his weight anymore.

Malik was waiting for them with the door open when they finally broke through the thicket and quickly ushered them inside the vehicle, face pale. "Jesus Christ. What happened in there?" he asked as Altair moved behind the wheel and slammed his foot on the gas, the land rover moving forward with a jolt and picking up speed. Helping Connor to sit down on the floor he eyes the makeshift bandage around his thigh and reached for a med kit. "I assume you gave him a piece of your mind." he muttered to Haytham as he handed him the kit and carefully began unwrapping the scarf. If Haytham hadn't, then he _would._

-=-=-=-

Haytham eyed the welt blossoming over his son's cheek. No, he still felt no guilt.

"Mm. Only just, the rest will come in due time." Eyeing the wound, Haytham grabbed what was iodine and blinked, face neutral. "This is going to sting." No other warning was offered before the liquid was dumped. Malik winced at the noise Connor made, Haytham's eyes on him. "By all means, add something. I'm assuming we had a communication misfire when you attempted to alert me of his presence."

Dark eyes narrowed. "Misfire..?"

"We heard you say he was dead." That was Altair, cigarette between his lips, one hand briefly fishing for the lighter in the glove compartment. "That's literally all we heard."

"..." He said nothing, Haytham still removing gauze and stitches from the kit, face a mask. Save for the lingering red eyes. Honestly, he wanted to ask if the story Altair had told him of Kadar's own abduction meant anything, but he'd settle for something less abrasive. If only because the vein in Haytham's temple looked about ready to burst with what he was emotionally withholding.

"When you're part of a team, kid, you don't run off and leave other's to fend for themselves. It's an asinine move." Altair's flinch did not go unnoticed but he said nothing, taking an exaggerated drag of his cigarette. "We're a team, so act like your part of it or fuck off."

That was about what Haytham had in mind, needle ready but the van far too rickety. While intent on causing his son some pain, he wouldn't scar him.

"... I'll wait until we stop to change." He offered Connor an angry glare but did not leave his side, even petting his hand, torn between rage and being... what? Terrified?

It seemed so.

They'd changed quickly, burning all used clothing in a small receptacle. Haytham kept his word and stitched the wound quickly; the scar it would leave would be thin, smooth. Something to kiss and nothing more in a few months time.

Bathing was an all together pain with Connor's injury but they managed. The ride back was done so with briefing, Malik filled in of the little details, including Silas' departure. While they may not have completed that objective, the mission was a success, overwhelmingly. They'd review what was on that laptop later, arriving in the wee hours of the morning, just before dawn. The apartment hummed with its air conditioning, and Haytham went to his wallet, pulling out a wad of money and handing it to Malik.

"Alcohol. A lot of it. Scotch or bourbon for myself, whatever you boys want, and a few Gatorades and Advil." If he was to have a hang over he'd have the means to resolve it. "Take your time." His eyes drifted to Connor, Malik following suit and nodding, dragging the half asleep Altair along with him. 

"An hour good?"

"Plenty, thank you."

The door shut, leaving Haytham to sit along the couch, eye twitching as he eyed his son.

So many things he could say, but he settled on the biggest one. "If you weren't my son amongst other things, I'd have beaten you bloody." Eyes narrowed, Haytham forcing himself to look away before regaining composure. "How am I to trust you when you cannot follow a simple rule to avoid-" He couldn't finish the statement, abruptly leaving, taking off in the direction of the shower. He couldn't handle this sober... hopefully no one had drank the Scotch he brought. Nope, a brief search about the cupboard and he went to the bathroom again, unwilling to lock the door for reasons he could not fathom. Like Connor would disappear. Pathetic. The scotch burned on the way down, Haytham quick to disrobe and step into the hot spray of water. The Scotch followed him into the shower, disappearing rapidly.

He needed to vent... but to do so, he needed to be less proud. Because admittedly, what he felt frightened him.

-=-=-=-

Connor stayed on his spot on his couch, arms wrapped around his pulled up legs as Haytham all but stormed out of the room. He did not return, and soon enough he heard water running. Sighing he pressed his face into his knee and took a few deep breaths, letting his father's words sink in. 

He was right of course. Dad had every reason to be pissed at him, and then some. So did Malik and Altair. Connor knew he shouldn't have left them but if he hadn't then both Cutter and Silas would have gotten away. Still, Connor agreed that he shouldn't have run off like that, without warning, and he definitely shouldn't have broken his connection with Malik. What had made him do that he still wasn't sure, but possibly it was because this, facing Cutter, had been something he needed to do alone. It had been _personal._ Malik's constant yelling would only have distracted him.

He'd have to apologize to them all, but no amount of 'sorry' would be enough. He had left them to their own devices, trust broken. A sorry wouldn't fix that. No, he'd have to work a lot harder to get it back.

Brown eyes glided over to the TV and for a short moment Connor wondered if there would already be something on the news concerning... this. Everything. They hadn't left any traces, or at least he didn't think they had but the scene was gruesome nonetheless. This would be all over the news soon enough, and it would be linked back to what had happened in Brazil. They'd have to get back to New York as soon as possible, to avoid suspicion. Play stupid, act like they hadn't left New York, hadn't been even close to Bali. It helped that they had come here with a private plane but they still couldn't take any chances.

Unwrapping his arms from around his knees he stood up and bypassed the TV; as he walked into the bathroom he saw that the bathroom door was unlocked and he frowned. Dad was in there, and he could go inside. They still had to talk... But would Haytham allow it? Perhaps he needed a moment alone and would snap at him further if he tried to intrude.

Still, the door was unlocked... that meant something, right?

His shirt fluttered to the floor in a heap, quickly followed by his pants, socks and underwear. Opening the bathroom door he was hit by a blast of hot steam and Connor narrowed his eyes as he stepped inside. The shower was nothing more than a cubicle, it wasn't even a tub, it would prove to be a tight fit as Connor pushed the curtain aside, his eyes falling on his father's naked back.

He wasted no time and stepped behind him before Haytham could turn around and placed his hands on his shoulders. "Allow me..." he whispered and placed a quick, soft kiss against the back of his neck before his hands slipped up to entangle in greying hair, massaging his father's scalp as he worked the shampoo in deeper.

He'd never been good with apologies. They were always awkward when he tried, so Connor remained silent, kissing Haytham's shoulder as his fingers worked. He'd prove his worth through different means, get them to trust him again. He wasn't quite sure how yet, but he'd do it.

-=-=-=-

The bottle emptied itself, Haytham setting it aside with a gentle roll, the bottle clacking against the floor outside his shower. A far cry from his luxurious New York tub with it's capacity for long, steaming bubble baths and multiple jets for body and hair alike. Ah, he'd become spoiled... there was nothing wrong with this, simply that it was less time consuming to operate, and allowed him to seethe, to think.

He didn't wish to think. It only caused him anger.

The water remained almost scalding, Haytham standing under the spray. It was taking a few minutes, but the Scotch was just finally beginning it's pleasant burn and light headedness accompanying such. Stupid, stupid lad. A squirt of shampoo and Haytham sighed, applying it liberally for a moment before dropping his hand, rinsing one off to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He thought him dead. He could have died. Granted he'd known that prior, but for him to vanish, to simply disappear...

He wasn't a man for potential outcomes nor regrets, but if Cutter had bested him, if there had been an ambush, if Connor did not make it out alive- the very thought sent a chill, a horrid one over him- the likes of which he'd experienced only a handful of times in his life. To find Connor dead, maimed, tortured, after Brazil, after the nightmares, the numerous time spent together.

There was an ache, strong, and for a moment he thought himself to be having a sort of anxiety attack but that wasn't it. No, he knew what it was.

And he didn't like it, not one _bit._ He'd done this song and dance before, too often, and with horrid results. Pressing his lips together, the shampoo sat in his hair still as he stared blankly ahead. He'd make no mention of it, the lad was too immature, unready for such. He'd proven that time and time agai-

"Hm?!" He barely prevented himself from jumping, the kiss to the back of his neck heavenly, fingers working their way through his hair, over his scalp- it was heavenly, if he was to be honest.

Too long had they been evasive, but even so he could not help but bristle somewhat, shoulders and back tensing, even as he allowed Connor to work. "... this doesn't mean I forgive you, not by a long shot you prick." It lacked bite, even though he meant it. Stupid scotch, this wasn't what he'd in mind.

Separating himself, he rinsed his hair thoroughly, turning to face Connor fully. The blossoming bruise on his cheek took a dark color, but other than that he was almost fine. He was even managing to stand alright, fancy that. He spoke without thinking, blaming the scotch as he eyes the stitches.

"I want to both punch you in it and kiss it simultaneously." He choose neither, eyes staring into his son's. "You've any idea what you put us through?" The word remained slurred, but understandable, Haytham's index finger poking Connor in the chest.

"I don't care how strong you are, how intimidating, you better damn well follow my instructions." He managed to cross his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed. "As you father, your inability to listen is borderline intolerable." And his gaze softened around the edges, giving way to something... else.

"As your lover..." A thick swallow, and Haytham did what felt right.

Lips fell over Connor's a brief peck, but even as he separated they were driven back again, and again, a series of presses and firm pecks over his lips, broad chin, his neck, and back up. Not sensual, no, an affirmation. He hadn't failed, his son was alive, and he found his voice again, lips pressed to Connor in a whisper. "Why do you insist on worrying me so, lad?" He kept his lips still, moving against Connor's softly. "Stop being selfish... I'd clearly do a substantial amount for you, yes?" He cracked his eyes open, fingers gliding over the bruise he'd caused. "I want to trust you, but..." The statement was left in the air, Haytham's lips on his again.

-=-=-=-

Connor stepped back, allowing his father to do what he wanted, to poke him in the chest, to rant at him, to get it out of his system. The bandages around his thigh were soaking up the water but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was fixing this.

They had gone through so much already, he and his dad. So many ups and downs, so many fights and harsh exchanges of words. But also so much time spent together, just the two of them, close, reveling in each others company. They could overcome this too.

"I'm not doing it on purpose." he whispered against the lips still pressed against his own, and his arms moved around his father, his fingers lacing together and resting at the small of his back. "You know that, right? I didn't want to leave you and Altair behind, it wasn't a conscious decision." Rather, seeing Cutter and Silas making a run for it had sent him into an immediate frenzy, where nothing mattered anymore except catching them. It was a problem, a mistake he couldn't afford to make a second time. He hadn't lost control like that since running into Bianca's boyfriend and he had preferred that to be the last time.

Lips pressed into a thin line as Haytham's fingers traced the bruise he had caused; Connor wasn't angry about the punch, it had been deserved, he didn't like hearing that his father wanted to trust him, but... but what? Couldn't? Wouldn't?

"What can I do?" Surely there had to be something, but they both knew that simply promising that he wouldn't do it again wasn't going to cut it. He had promised not to leave the team, yet he had done so anyway. "I know what I did was wrong, I shouldn't have left you, but it worked out in the end, didn't it? No one got hurt-" but only because they had gotten lucky and they might not be that lucky should they ever had to do this again. "-but if I hadn't done it, Silas and Cutter would have gotten away. I had to." He sighed. Even to his own ears the excuse sounded lame, as it probably was.

"How can I fix this, dad?" His hold on Haytham tightened, pulling him closer to his body as one hand tangled into greying hair again, and his eyes fluttered close as he nipped at his father's lips. "How can I earn your trust once more?"

-=-=-=-

Perhaps the alcohol had effected him more then he'd suspected; instead of conjuring a coherent, well thought out retort his mind simply screamed 'lame excuses are lame'. Though admittedly, while not particularly eloquent, it served purpose.

He was unaccustomed to this, to being the lesser of two men, in a manner of stature. The hands on the small of his back should feel somewhat foreign, but it was overridden as feeling quite- surprisingly-right. Connor had large hands, and soft lips... and sharp teeth, as noted by the hiss that left him.

His verbal response was not instantaneous, thought in a foreign gesture his arms encircled broad shoulders, hands lacing behind the back of Connor's neck. They were flush now, under the water's spray, every part of them aligned. Haytham's lips met his again, returning the nip, but sucking his lower lip after. He fumed still on some level, truly he did, but at the same time... he couldn't quite bare to pull away.

"... I don't know." It was said between a kiss, his tongue tracing lips, voice thick. "Trust isn't earned with a single act, lad, it takes work. But these mistakes, not minor errors are trying. I'm sure you know that." For a moment, he dared look into brown eyes, just watching, silently. He was only so very angry because he... dare he mention it, even inwardly? He cared, beyond the extent that he'd imagined. But to say such... the time was not right. Instead he offered another kiss, a longer one, more demanding, tongue in the open air as it glided over Connor's, tasting and turning more than fighting for power.

He split only to whisper against wet lips. "Avoiding situations where you'd potentially die without my express knowledge. That is sure to be a start." He paused, lips twitching. "... perhaps a back rub, I pulled something punching you, which I'm not entirely sorry for yet regret marginally simultaneously. For that I blame the alcohol, I'm quite plastered."

Perhaps more then quite, his words were slurring a little more steadily. Still he kissed him, sloppily, lazily, moving one hand to cup his face as he did kiss lips over and over again.

"I'm glad you're here, Connor." Every kiss was a confirmation of such, the water beginning to cool on his back, but he remained still, too engrossed in the tangible evidence that his son still lived. He'd get over the rest eventually.

-=-=-=-

Oh, a back rub? "You're getting old." he purred, but it was only a tease. And as much as he enjoyed the closeness of their bodies pressed together, the slick, hot slide of skin on skin, hands roaming and lips kissing, they couldn't continue. It had been too long and he was definitely eager to move this to the next step - already he could feel the first stirrings of arousal - but no... Haytham was drunk, and they'd had a very tiring day.

With what was heavy reluctance Connor broke the kiss and took a small step backwards, mentally wincing at the loss of close contact. "Understood. Next time I run off I'll be sure to let you know." It was said with a grin, meant as nothing more than a joke to try and lift the mood a little, but soon enough it melted back into a small smile, turning serious again. "Thanks dad... I know I'm an asshole at times, but... I'm glad you're here as well."

Reaching for a wash cloth and a bottle of scented body wash and popped the cap and sniffed it - hm, nice. "Now, about that back rub..." Twirling his finger he waited until Haytham turned around and squirted a decent amount of body wash onto the wash cloth, lathering it up under the hot spray of the shower. Setting the bottle to the side he set to work, sliding the cloth over skin as he dug his fingers into muscle to work them loose, rubbing and kneading to get them to relax. All the while, as he worked, he peppered the back of Haytham's shoulder and neck with small kisses and nips - there was nothing sexual about it, it didn't _need_ to be sexual and possibly the lack of it made this even more intimate.

After a while Connor simply dropped the washcloth and wrapped his arms around his father again, face pressed into his hair as his fingers lightly stroked his chest and stomach. This was alright. As long as Haytham kept believing in him, he could make it work.

~*~

"Are they still talking?"

"I suppose..." Closing the door behind him and locking it, Altair yawned loudly and dragged his feet into the living room. Malik followed him, eyes on the bedroom door and set the bag with alcohol on the table as Altair flopped onto the couch and pulled a pillow closer.

"If you're tired go to bed." Malik grumbled but all he got was a incoherent mumble as Altair pressed his face into the pillow. "Just know I'm not dragging your ass back to the bedroom." Glaring at Altair's back Malik rolled his eyes and sat down in a chair as well. Truth be told, he was exhausted himself but he didn't feel like sleeping yet. It was unlikely that Haytham and Connor would show their faces before morning - their talk was bound to be a difficult one, but even so Malik still had too much adrenaline in his system to sleep yet. He hadn't felt like _this_ since his days in the military. 

His eyes fell on the laptop Altair had taken with him and while he tried to ignore his growing curiosity, it won out in the end. Grabbing it Malik leaned back, the laptop resting in his lap as he flipped it open and turned it on.

It didn't take him long to regret doing so. Browsing through the files Malik's eyebrows slowly lowered further and further. From saved e-mail conversations to text documents giving details on all the 'pit dogs', financial accounts and medical rapports; the more he saw, the more he realized what a truly fucked up organization this had been. Even worse were the many photos and videos, most of them of fights. It was sickening to look at, his face turning pale as he browsed through a collection of gruesome photos of a young man who had been killed in the pits. No, 'killed' didn't even properly describe it. He had been slaughtered. Butchered.

Shuddering he quickly clicked the photos away and opened a different folder, this one containing only one photo. Clicking it, it took him a few moments to let what he saw sink in, but when it did Malik cursed loudly and grabbed a pillow, throwing it at Altair's head.

"Altair! Wake up!"

Grumbling Altair just curled up further, like an oversized, snoring cat and Malik grabbed a second pillow, slamming this down on his head as hard as he could. "Wake up, novice!"

Snorting Altair jerked away and rolled over, glaring daggers at his friend as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. "The fuck, Malik! What is your problem?!" 

Malik simply turned the laptop towards him. "Look."

Noting the slight tremor in Malik's voice, as well as his wide open eyes, Altair glanced down at the screen, peering at the people in the photo, and his stomach dropped like a brick.

It was a family photo, six people, all smiling and waving at the camera. The eldest looking man, with kind smiling eyes, long hair and wearing a neat suit, had his arm around the waist of the pretty woman standing next to him. In front of them, one girl and three boys, the latter ranging from twelve or so to somewhere early twenties. Big red crosses were painted over the elderly man, the eldest boy and the youngest, marring their faces, and at the bottom was a date.

A date Altair recognized, barely two months ago. Recognized it, because he knew these people and he knew of the horrible tragedy that had befallen them. He had been to the funeral, he and Malik both.

Tearing his eyes away from the photo Altair slowly looked up to meet Malik's eyes, unaware that he was shaking and unaware of the tears gathering in his eyes. He couldn't even hide the tremble in his voice as he whispered. "Malik... what is _this_ doing on this laptop?"

"I don't know." It was whispered back, and Malik pressed his hand to his mouth as he eyed the photo, looking at their smiling faces. "I don't know..."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait, some stuff came up that took precedence.
> 
> You guys have no idea how long I've been aching to include everyone's favorite Italian in this story! Oh the fun I will have with him >D
> 
> Honestly I kinda rushed editing this so if you see any grave errors please met let me know, I'll go over this myself a second time later. The Italian was done with Google Translate so it's probably not entirely accurate. No warnings for this chapter. Enjoy~
> 
> -Necro

It didn't take long for Haytham and Connor to emerge into the living room, both freshly showered and dressed and looking thoroughly confused. Altair and Malik had quickly decided that this couldn't wait until the following morning; they had banged their fists on the door as long as was needed for Haytham to finally stick his head out, strands of wet hair sticking to his skin.

"We need to talk. Now. Get Connor and meet us in the living room." That was all Malik had been willing to give before he promptly turned to the laptop again. Five minutes later found Connor and Haytham seated on the couch, curiously eying them and their sullen expressions both.

It was Connor who broke the silence first. "What's going on?" His brown eyes looked at the back of the laptop before they glanced over at Altair, who sat on a chair with his legs pulled up, arms wrapped around his knees and his amber gaze fixed on the screen. It was almost uncharacteristic to see him looking so... what was the word? Lost?

"I was... browsing through the files on the laptop Altair took from the office in the temple." Malik began and his eyes flitted to Altair as well. "And I found this." He turned the laptop around, and Connor stared at the photo, eyebrows lowering in a frown. It looked like a normal photo, of a group of smiling people, but the red crosses were odd.

"What about it?" he asked and Malik sighed, but before he could explain Altair shifted and raised his head enough so his voice wouldn't be muffled by his knees.

"I know them." he muttered and all eyes fell on him, but Altair's gaze remained fixated on the photo. "They're family. Italian branch, they live in Florence. Or... lived there anyway." He ignored the shocked stares he was receiving and closed his eyes. "If you look closely, you'll see a date at the bottom. Perhaps you've seen it on the news, though it wasn't a very big story here."

"... what happened?" Connor asked as he looked at the three red crosses painted on the photo. Did that mean they were dead? His hand unconsciously searched for his father's, gripping it tightly and Altair opened his eyes again.

"Giovanni Auditore... he was a lawyer, with a good reputation. A good man. He was defending a difficult case, someone who had witnessed something he shouldn't have seen - I don't know the details - but the Italian police thinks that... well, someone wanted to be rid of him. It happened in broad daylight. A car, rigged with bombs. It smashed right into the front door of their villa just as they walked out. Caused a huge explosion. Giovanni, Federico and Petruccio were killed on the spot. Maria, his wife, saw it happen and while she only had minor injuries, she fell into a shock she still hasn't recovered from. Last I heard, she and her daughter Claudia are still residing with Giovanni's brother in the country side of Monteriggioni. And Ezio... Ezio was lucky he wasn't home that day. He now lives at a friend's place in Venice, because the villa got mostly destroyed."

Altair paused and a thick silence fell over the room. No one dared to say anything; Malik had his hand on Altair's shoulder to offer some comfort, and Connor still had his eyes on the photo. Such tragedy... but what did this have to do with... anything?

"The police wasn't able to find a culprit. There was a body in the rigged car and they suspect that it was either a willing kamikaze act, or that the person was drugged into it. The body was too charred to perform tests on, so they don't know for sure. But they say it was likely the entire Auditore family was a target." 

Altair sighed and rubbed his fingers along his eyes, blinking a few times. It had been such a shock to find out about this two months ago, getting a call from Ezio. It had been difficult to understand his panicked rambles through his sobs, but Altair had gotten the gist of it and he and Malik had boarded a plane to Italy as soon as they could. He had never been that close with the Auditores, but they had always kept contact and they visited each other once every few years. Ezio was a good kid... a bit stupid perhaps, but a good kid with his heart in the right place. He'd probably be good friends with Connor had they ever had a chance to meet earlier; they were about the same age, give or take a few months.

"And now their photo is here, on this laptop and... I can't help but think that, whoever is responsible for the murder of Giovanni and his sons, he was part of this whole organization as well. Why else would this photo, with red crosses over those who died, be stored in this laptop?" He snorted. What a fucked up case of coincidence.

Malik cleared his throat then and swallowed thickly as everyone looked at him. This he hadn't mentioned to Altair yet. "I found something else. E-mail conversations. The leader here, of the temple, his name was Micheletto. I have a few saved e-mails here of him passing information back and forth with Silas, dating back to when Silas still lead the den in Brazil. But there are also e-mail messages to other people, names I don't recognize. I... don't think that Brazil and Bali are the only places. One of the e-mails mentions Sydney, and another mentions New Zealand. This organization... it's a lot bigger than we initially thought."

Silence. There was nothing Connor could say to this as the information slowly sank in. There were more dens? More places were these horrible things were happening to innocent people, right at this moment even? Even Altair's distant family had gotten involved! What were they supposed to do now?! Who knew how many more of those dens were out there, spread all over the globe?

Squeezing his father's hand Connor gripped his hair and took a deep breath. "What do we do?" he asked, aware that his voice was pitched a little higher than was normal for him, but no one seemed to notice it.

"I want to speak to Ezio. As soon as possible." Amber eyes met grey. "He deserves to know the truth."

-=-=-=-

Any sense of accomplishment he'd garnered was dashed with the brief content Altair unleashed. Haytham remained still, his hand squeezing Connor's in reassurance, an automatic gesture as of late. More dens, more victims, more lives destroyed and atrocities that could be prevented. And Silas was still out there...

Yet what was he to do? He'd temporarily stepped aside from his own life's work months ago. He was not a damnable super hero, nor the global police. Yet to stand by and watch such happen, to knowingly turn his back...

Amber eyes met his. Altair offered understanding just hours prior, risking his own life to search for his would be dead son. This was a... well, it would be no phone call.

"I haven't been to Venice in years, I can but wonder if that little restaurant by the port is still open." He glanced at his watch, doing the math. "... if we leave this afternoon we can make dinner."

He felt eyes on him, and realized they were staring. "You didn't think we'd call the lad and tell him this news, surely?" Grey eyes rolled. "Oh hello cousin, it's me. Uhm, just to let you know your family was actually killed by a possible league of psychopaths forcing men to fight to death. I know because, you see, I trained for months to put the efforts of one such den to a halt. Nice speaking to you, g'day."

A flat stare was all he offered before getting up with a slight wobble, murmuring. "Well played, classy man. Of course we're going to Venice."

He hadn't made it into his room yet, Altair stammering. "B-but, I mean, you've already done enough." It wasn't that he didn't want to go, really. It was just... "I'll pay you back for this, I swear, whatever the cost of our tickets are."

He couldn't look more affronted if he tried, eye twitching. "... Malik, slap him upside the head for me, I'm to incapacitated to walk a straight line and do so."

"Ow! Malik, really?"

"Thank you."

"Mhm."

He mumbled moving forward, staggering just slightly. "If you want to pay me back, teach Connor how to cook. And stop leaving the toilet seat down, it really is disgusting." He poked his head outside his bedroom, rolling his eyes. "Connor, I am not packing for you and looking up tickets myself, get up."

-=-=-=-

~*~

-=-=-=-

Venice, Italy. It was just like all the pictures in travel brochures. _Different._ But nice, it looked nice, like a fantastic place to go on vacation. Friendly people, lots of places to see and visit, things to do...

That wasn't what they were here for though.

Altair took the lead once they stepped out of the private plane, taking a seat behind the wheel of the Volvo they rented. He had the address of where Ezio was staying, because his friend was a well known painter here in Venice and had been easy to look up over the internet, owning a site and everything. With the help of a navigation system it wasn't that difficult to find.

Through the ride, which took twenty minutes or so, Connor kept himself plastered against the window of the car, observing the scenery outside. He wished they could have come here for reasons less serious than this... perhaps one day he and dad could actually go on a fun trip, travel all over Italy. Rome! He wanted to see Rome one day, visit the Colosseum!

"We're here." 

Altair's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and Connor blinked as the car came to a stop, parking to the side. Getting out Altair locked the door and wasted no time, expression set to 'serious' as he briskly crossed the street and knocked on the ornate wooden door. It looked nothing special, Connor noted; the paint on the door was old and vague, bleached in the sun, and the doorknob looked rusty.

Altair knocked again and through the door he could hear lots of muffled stumbling and cursing, quickly getting closer. Bolts were unlocked from the inside and the door finally opened, revealing a man looking to be in his mid thirties, with bright blue eyes and messy blond hair framing his freckled face. A red beret stood crooked on top of his hair and Connor couldn't help but notice the smudges of paint on him, everywhere. They were everywhere, on his hands, on his clothes and even on his face.

The man was grinning at them, responding with a jubilant "Si?" before it slowly seemed to dawn on him who they were. Or rather, who Altair was. Tilting his head to the side, the man blinked, a look of honest confusion shifting over his face. "... Altair?"

"Hi, Leonardo."

Leonardo's blue eyes slowly shifted to Malik, then to Connor and finally to Haytham, and widened before he quickly glanced back at Altair. "Er..."

"Is Ezio home?"

A slow blink, and Leonardo shook his head. "No, he's not I'm afraid. He's out. But I expect him home soon. Ah, where are my manners? Please come in, come in! Make yourself at home!" Stepping to the side Leonardo ushered them all inside, closed the door and quickly led them into the living room. At least, Connor supposed it was a living room. His first impression as he looked around was 'organized chaos'; there were... things, everywhere! Sketches and half finished paintings, books, drawing supplies, tools and bits and pieces he couldn't even name littered nearly every surface. Compared to this, his old bedroom back home was the neatest thing ever.

"Please, sit. Sit! Ah, e'un casino qui dentro, mi dispiace. Dammi un momento." It was funny to see Leonardo bumble around, making space for them on the couch while running through the room to clean up a bit. They sat down and Leonardo clapped his hands. "Can I get you something to drink? Wait, I think I still have..." He disappeared into the kitchen and came back moments later carrying glasses and a bottle of wine. "I was saving this for later, but I might as well... It's good to see you again, Altair. Especially after everything that has happened... you should have told me you were coming!"

Altair cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head, shrugging. "Yeah well, the decision was kinda a spur of the moment thing... Um, Leo. You know Malik. This is Connor Kenway, and his father, Haytham Kenway."

Leonardo's blue eyes grew almost impossibly wide, a boyish grin splitting his face. "I know who you are!" Setting down the glasses and wine on the table he grabbed Haytham's hand with his own and shook it wildly, his beret nearly falling off his head. "I've read your books! So exciting! The way you described the-"

Altair loudly cleared his throat and Leonardo looked up. "Si? Oh right, the wine! Mi dispiace."

Connor hid his snort of amusement with a cough and bit his tongue to keep from laughing; this man was all over the place!

He accepted the wine with a soft thank-you, taking a very small sip, and as Leonardo filled Haytham's glass they heard the front door open, followed by a lot of stumbling and high pitched giggling. A young man, one Connor recognized from the photo, stumbled into the living room with a giggling girl in his arms, lips locked in what was clearly a passionate kiss. They hadn't seemed to notice them yet and it wasn't until the girl opened one of her heavily made up eyes, saw them sitting there and tugged on Ezio's ponytail that the kiss finally broke. "Amore, ti sembra di avere ospiti sopra."

"Eh?" Blinking Ezio looked up, staring at them all with a confused look on his face, until his eyes settled on... "Altair!" Letting go of the girl he bounced through the room with a mad grin on his face and nearly jumped on top of Altair, his arms tight around his neck.

"Oh Jesus, dude! Get off!" Pushing at him Altair snarled at his cousin, who was not deterred by him snapping at him but let go anyway.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I wouldn't have brought- I'm sorry amore." He turned to the girl with a sad little smile. "We'll have to finish this some other time, si?"

"Hmm. It's okay. This seems... important. Call me?"

"Sooner than you think! Wait, let me see you out." Pulling away from Altair completely Ezio quickly made his way back to the girl, taking her hand in his and led her to the door. Kissing her hand he whispered something they couldn't quite hear from where they were seated and with a last small giggle and her fingers stroking his cheek, the girl left.

Ezio slowly closed the door with a soft click and turned, the smile melting off his face to make way for a more serious expression that matched their own. "What is going on? Not that it's not good to see you, but why are you here?" And who were _they,_ he mentally added as he eyed Connor and Haytham.

-=-=-=-

Luckily private planes allowed for sleep, they'd needed a fair share. It had been sometime since Haytham's last trip to Italy, almost a decade prior. A shame both then and now it'd been for business, rather than leisure.

He hadn't known what to expect, really. He'd heard of Leonardo before, certainly; while he didn't view artwork in abundance, the few paintings he had of the man were life-like, well orchestrated, with neat, precise detail and experimentation in implement and texture.

He'd expected someone like himself, perhaps, save for an artistic flair. The soft hands that shook his and exuberant blue eyes were simply not that. Neither was his propensity towards mess; while not unhygienic, it was a far cry from what he deemed acceptable. His fingers twitched, aching to tidy up, and yet... he found himself unable to ostracize, even mentally. His exuberance, the shine, the short attention span and excitement; he was reminded of William in their youth, always polite, kind. Perhaps even when one was undeserving.

For this reason his comments remained unheard, a ghost of a smile twitching his lips. He was to remark on his own knowledge of said man, since he was such a polite fan when another lad entered, one with a flair for the...

... well, Caterina Sforza would certainly be his type. He'd leave it at that.

An overdose of affection, and Haytham winced. Ah, that boyish grin was certain to disappear shortly.

Eyes lay on him, and Haytham stood, speaking, hand outstretched. "Haytham Kenway, "His chin turned upward, lips twitching in the same direction, "And this is my son, Connor. You may be familiar with us."

"No." A blink and he added laughingly, shaking his hand. With a firm grip, Haytham noted. "I mean to say, I've heard of you but-"

"I've a collection of your writings and have read him excerpts, I could not help it!" Again, Leonardo's eyes were alight, Haytham unable to halt the small chuckle that left him. 

"I see, I see. Very well." If he needed to explain, so be it. He was unsure just how long reaching the news was. "There were incidents in Brazil that occurred a few months prior." He resumed his seat, hand gripping Connor's knee reflexively, almost gently. "A fighting arena, but far worse, exposing dozens of men to daily battle to their lives end." 

Their was a small gasp, and Leonardo nodded, a sympathetic gaze drifting over him as he eyed Connor, but he remained respectively silent. Ezio seemed to consider it; perhaps he heard it in passing, a time or two. But...

"Mi dispiace but-" A gesture, and he turned to Altair, curious. "I... don't understand the relevance, cugino."

"... it's hard to explain, but..." Tracing the scar on his lip, Altair braced himself. "Connor, Ka- Malik's brother, and your family are all linked. " A look was shared between Leonardo and Ezio, Altair fighting to explain. "We... found something, of importance during a... a raid-"

"A raid?" Both sets of eyes widened, impossibly so, almost comically except there was nothing funny about this. One could cut the air, so thick and laden with silence as it was.

"A raid of what? ...of... of a den? Like-like what occurred in Brazil?" 

Haytham could but nod once, the question stemming from Leonardo, eyes skirting between everyone, and landing on Connor, finally. "Why? If the men responsible were on trial..." A quickly babbled phrase in Italian and Leonardo shook his head. Even so, how did this concern them? How did this raid even connect to Ezio?

-=-=-=-

"They weren't responsible."

All eyes shifted to Connor but he kept his own gaze averted, staring at his knees. He hated talking about it, it never got easier but he was probably one of the best suited to explain.

"The leader of the den in Brazil is a guy named Silas, he and his right hand man Cutter escaped. We tracked them down to Bali and found a second den there, in the jungle."

Looking up he caught eyes with Leonardo, who sat shocked in silence, his paint-splattered hand covering his mouth. Ezio's expression was disturbed, staring at him with frown; it was clear he was struggling to make sense of it all.

"We spent months preparing for the raid." Connor continued. "Me, dad, Altair and Malik. We infiltrated the Bali den a day ago, got the prisoners out and took down the leader of that den and Cutter-"

"What do you mean, took down?"

"Exactly what he said, Leonardo." Altair answered for him, but Leonardo shook his head and gripped the couch tightly, knuckles turning white. 

"Y-you mean you went in there and _killed_ people?"

"Well they were trying to kill us too."

Leonardo abruptly stood up and quickly moved behind Ezio, his hand on his shoulder. Murderers. They were murderers! Ezio grimaced and reached up to squeeze his friend's hand; Leonardo hated violence, especially senseless violence. His reaction was to be expected, and while Ezio didn't like it either, he knew that there was more to the story. "Why didn't you let the police handle it?"

Connor met his eyes and noted that they were almost the same shade of amber as Altair's, but a little bit darker. "Because the police won't do shit. They don't care. The pinned the blame of what happened in Brazil on lesser men just to be done with it. The government would much rather live on in blissful ignorance, ignoring what is going on, what is happening to the people who get captured by men like Silas."

"Like you, right?" Ezio shot back and Connor's eyelid twitched, before he nodded.

"Yeah, like me. Though I only spent two weeks in Brazil, Malik's younger brother spent three whole years in that hell hole, suffering abuse and torture nearly every day. The government couldn't care _less,_ so we do what they refuse to."

"You can't just take matters into your own hand like that..." Leonardo whispered from behind Ezio and his hand squeezed his shoulder as he shook his head. "You just can't... violence will just bring about more violence. It isn't the answer. Those people probably had families-"

"So did the prisoners." Malik kept his eyes on the floor as he spoke, eyes closed and Altair reached out to soothingly rub his hand up and down his tense back. "I didn't even know that Kadar was alive all those years. Didn't try to search for him, get him out."

"What... what happened to him?"

Malik did not answer that, but his silence was answer enough. Leonardo slowly closed his eyes, already regretting he had asked and brought up bad memories. "I'm sorry..."

"... me too."

"Still..." Blue eyes opened again to look about the room, looking at everyone as he fidgeted with the collar of Ezio's shirt. "It still isn't the answer. This is not-"

"We're not asking your permission here." Connor cut in and Leonardo's mouth closed with an abrupt clack. "Do you even know what funds those places?" he continued and the painter offered a tiny shake of his head, fear in his eyes as if he didn't even want to know the answer. 

"The customers. The spectators who pay tons of cash to see the prisoners, innocent men, beat each other to death in a fighting ring. They called us pit dogs. Silas even referred to us as his merchandise. They're treated less than human, they're just a source of income, a source of fucking entertainment! When my dad and the FBI raided the Brazil den in an attempt to get me out, Silas ordered to execution of every single pit dog in there, over a hundred men, because he'd rather see them dead than saved!"

Leonardo opened his mouth to reply but Connor cut him off by sharply raising his hand. "I only experienced three fights myself, and they were all broadcasted directly back to my father with a live stream, so that he could watch. I will not go into details, but these people..." He shook his head... he wouldn't say that they deserved to die because they weren't human, because that would make him sound like a hypocrite.

A silence fell over the room, heavy and so thick one could cut it with a knife. Ezio cleared his throat and blinked... yeah, it was bad, everything that had happened, and he could understand wanting to take matters into your own hands after experiencing it from up close like they had... but it still did not explain what it had to do with him. "Why are you telling me this?"

Connor sighed and looked at Malik, who pulled a sheet of paper out of his bag. Taking it Connor reached out to Ezio, offering him the printed photo. "Altair took a laptop out of the Bali den. We found this."

-=-=-=-

"A photo?" It was taken from Connor's hand with trepidation, Leonardo peering beside for a better look.

The identical raise in eyebrows and wide eyes spoke volumes, though Leonardo looked visibly more nauseated. A hand clapped over his mouth, a small gasp leaving him, and his free hand gripped Ezio's shoulder all the tighter. The surprise, confusion, anger on his face was palpable.

"C-Che..." Rapid eye movement allowed him to examine everyone in front of him, most gazes awkward, averted. This photograph- his mother, father, sister, brothers- and he, circled, the lone male left.

A hundred questions, and he'd no answer for any of them, shock and confusion plastered over his face. Haytham spoke, voice not unkind. "Altair explained how your father was a prominent lawyer." Dark amber met grey, and he continued. "We've little doubt what his client was to testify witnessing."

Ezio's Italian mumbling to himself was rapid, question a tremor as a finger ran over the faces of his family. Dead, taken from him without reason. Until now.

"Chi... chi ha preso questa foto?" 

It wasn't a hard question to piece together, and Haytham answered before Leonardo could translate. "We're unsure, either Silas or the person in charge of the temple in Bali. Either way, it's evident that there are more dens, more lives in jeopardy." A silence befell them, Haytham's voice hushed. "It's just as likely your father knew and tried to put a stop to it using his client." Perhaps he hadn't known to their extent, but he'd known, at the very least, the gist of the situation.

"I thought you'd want to know." Given everything, He deserved to know. Ezio may be a little whimsical and immature, but he wasn't a bad kid, far from it.

The silence remained, soft spoken words of comfort whispered from Leonardo, eyes shimmering. Ezio had finally begun to move on, and now, to find out this...

"Perdonami." He took the photo with him, eyes unable to lift from what was his once happy family. "Ezio..."

"I wish to be alone, Leonardo, Just... I need..." His voice broke, and he turned away, walking for the door, opening and allowing it close with a slam. Everything he'd known, what he'd loved... lost. Lost to people who remained free while his family had burned in an explosion. A cowardly death chosen by a twisted individual.

The tears fell rapidly, Ezio ascending the back entrance and laying out on the roof, hidden from view. There was no closing this wound, nor ignoring it.

Inside his home Leonardo stood, voice trembling. He wasn't attempting to be rude, really he wasn't. But... "I think it would be best if you left now."

It was said sans animosity, a sniffle leaving him as he wiped eyes on a heavily paint splattered sleeve. This was too much... far too much to handle. He disagreed with their methods, yet understood in totality. And it didn't make it better, nor did it make him feel better. He needed his own space to think, but he was not without manners, opening the door and showing them out.

"I wish the circumstances were different." It was all Altair could say, and Leonardo nodded, a sad smile ghosting features. "Si, ugualmente." The door shut with a soft click, Altair letting out a slow drawn out breath. He'd call them tomorrow, to make sure Ezio was all right but... what would they do in the mean time?

Where did they go from here?

-=-=-=-

Connor watched Ezio go. He'd heard the crack in his voice and sighed, closing his eyes. He understood what Ezio was feeling. Understood it perfectly.

They bid Leonardo goodbye and as they walked back to the car Connor looked up towards the roof. He couldn't see Ezio, but he had a feeling he was up there nonetheless. Back when he still lived in New Rochelle, he had often escaped to the small balcony or the roof when he needed to be alone. He couldn't do that anymore now that he lived with Haytham, but he understood the need.

Either way, it was best to leave them alone for a while, let the news sink in.

After twenty or so minutes of driving around looking for a suitable place to spend the night, Altair finally pulled up in front of a nice looking hotel. Connor didn't pay much attention as they parked and went into the lobby, where Altair and Haytham both took care of booking a room. They were getting some odd glances from the receptionist when they asked for one room - they were four grown guys after all - but it wasn't like either of them cared. 

The room they were given was nice, nothing too special but spacious enough. Altair immediately moved to the refrigerator to see if it held something for him to raid but Connor walked straight towards the balcony, stepping into the bright, warm sunlight. Italian weather was nice, perhaps a little too hot for his tastes, but nice. 

What were they supposed to do now though? They had come here to tell Ezio the truth about what happened to his family, even though the only proof they had that Silas' company was behind this too was that one singular photo. But why else would it be on the laptop, right?   
What were they expecting? For Ezio to suddenly turn around and join them on this mad mission of theirs? Like that would ever happen. He had a life here, he was still young.

_So did you. You had a life, you are young_

No... it's not the same.

_He's barely older than you and now he has a genuine reason to want revenge. Why wouldn't he join?_

Connor's fingers curled around the railing until his knuckles whitened, and closed his eyes. Ezio wouldn't join because... because he still had family here! And friends.

_You left Myriam and Shaun. They don't know what you did in Bali_

"Shut up." he growled.

"What? I didn't say anything."

Connor whirled around on his heel; Altair stood behind him, a beer bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other, looking at him with one eyebrow raised. Connor sighed and turned again, his eyes on the street below, watching the many tourists bumble about as they enjoyed their vacation. "Nothing."

"Hm." Standing next to him Altair leaned his elbows on the railing and lit his cigarette, taking a deep drag from it. Behind them Malik entered the balcony as well, dragging a chair with him and sitting down in the only shaded corner, and started flipping through Italian magazines. Connor wasn't sure if he could even read Italian... perhaps he was just looking at the pictures.

"So um..." Awkward silence, he hated it. "Leonardo seemed nice."

"Hm. He is." Taking a long drink from his beer Altair nodded. "He's a genius. A real prodigy child. Like that music dude from Germany."

"Who?"

"You know, the dead one. With the piano?"

"... Mozart?"

"Yes! That one." Behind them Malik facepalmed but Altair ignored it. "It's not just painting Leo's good at. He invents shit, he knows a lot about anatomy, medical stuff, engineering, you name it, he knows it."

Wow... impressive. Connor looked down at the street again as the man next to him took another deep drag from his cigarette. "How old is he?" He seemed young, but...

"Somewhere in his thirties I think. Why?"

"Well, if Ezio is around my age, and Leonardo is his best friend... it just seems like such an age difference."

"Leo's a family friend. Maria - Ezio's mom - had commissioned a bunch of paintings from him a few years ago and it just clicked between them. That's how he sort of became an unofficial part of the family. Leo is a chronic procrastinator, so despite his many talents he rarely gets his jobs done on time. As a result, he's never had a lot of money, and the Auditore family kinda adopted him, I guess. Help him with his finances." Altair shrugged. "He was never keen on accepting any of the money though."

"Oh." A selfless person then.

"Leo can do no harm." Altair continued and flicked his finished cigarette away. "He's a vegetarian, he hates violence, the whole shebang. If he has a mosquito in his room he'd rather catch it and free it then kill it."

"And... Ezio? What is he like?"

Altair turned his head at that and smirked at him, lips pulling back to flash white teeth. "He's kinda like you." he chuckled. "An idiot." Clapping him on the back Altair turned and walked back into the room, leaving Connor behind looking rather bewildered. 

"... Did he just call me an idiot?" he asked Malik, who was still looking through his magazines - some kind of cooking magazine by the looks of it - ooh this would be his chance to eat some _real_ Italian pizza!

"He did." Malik flipped another page. "For once what he said wasn't bullshit."

Connor's eyebrows lowered. Gee, thanks. Malik had said it with a grin though... Connor supposed he had deserved that, for running off earlier.

-=-=-=-

He'd remained silent, filing facts away, rethinking notions. As to be expected the news was far from delightful and hardly taken with ease. No, the boy would need time to acquaint himself with the news, and from there...

Well, there were two options. He'd join them or wouldn't. 'Twas simple enough, really.

that Ezio did in fact remind him of Connor, in several ways. While he hadn't joined them on the balcony he seated himself on the bed, laptop and sliding glass doors both open so he may partake in conversation if he wished. Lips twitched upward as Altair made his way over to him, sitting beside him against the headboard.

"Now, now, children. He may be an idiot but when it comes to culinary talent- no wait, that's me- rather, his cleaning skills.." Another twitch of his lips and Altair took to grinning himself, Haytham putting on a show of 'false thought.' "... oh wait, no that's me again- but in his defense he's great at tracking-"

"No, I think that was I."

"You sure Malik?"

"Fairly."

"Well damn then, lad-" he skimmed through files, pictures, trying to keep the mood light hearted as they grew somewhat ghastly, "... you're just another pretty face-"

The words died in his throat, Haytham's mouth shutting with a click as his eyes fell on a picture, taken by what may have been paparazzi at some point. Looking over his shoulder, Altair had to double take, the both of them silent.

"Is that... you?"

He could only nod, a picture of himself and a certain someone else, clearly downloaded- it couldn't have been more than two years old, but that was not what bothered him.

A red cross marred her face, which he hoped had been happy. There was a moment where he simply sat and looked over the image, lips pressed to a line before he made up his mind.

"I won't rest until every family I find in these files are aptly avenged." Whether or not Altair or Malik would join his was another issue, but Haytham dare not think about it as he excused himself, to simple take a walk around the building if nothing more. There would be justice for all of them, even if by unconventional means. He'd make sure of it.

-=-=-=-

Connor sputtered and crossed his arms over his broad chest, glaring at Malik out of the corner of his eyes. "You are not better at tracking than I am."

"Aren't I?" Malik answered, uninterested as he flipped another page.

"You're not. I've been hunting for the bigger part of my life. I know how to track and I'm good at it."

"Good for you."

Rolling his eyes Connor turned again; somewhere below someone was singing in Italian, and on the roof opposite of the hotel sat a flock of pigeons, preening and making a smelly mess of the tiles. As such he didn't notice Haytham leaving until he heard the door close and when he turned his father was indeed gone. Altair still sat on the bed with a disturbed look on his face as he eyed the laptop.

"Wh... what happened? Where is he going?" Walking into the room Altair quickly shut the laptop with a click and shook his head. 

"Nothing, he's just getting some fresh air."

"That's bullshit, we have a balcony for that. What's going on?"

Malik had gotten up as well, the magazine dangling from his fingers as he stepped around Connor and looked at the laptop. "What did he find?"

Altair clearly hesitated, amber eyes flicking back to Connor before he pushed the laptop over the sheets; Malik sat down and pulled it closer, flipping it open and Connor quickly stood behind him, eyes on the photo.

He wished he hadn't looked.

Haytham was there, but his attention was drawn to the woman walking beside him, with a big red cross painted over her face. The same cross that had been painted over the faces of Ezio's family.

"Is that your mom?" Malik asked softly, and Connor swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat; he was trembling. When had he started trembling?

"Y-yeah."

No one said anything, but Malik reached up and patted his arm. Altair had his eyes down and plucked at the sheets with his fingers.

"Give me the laptop."

Frowning Malik looked at him again and withdrew his hand, closing the device. Why did he want the laptop? "What are you going to do with it?" With his anger issues he could easily see Connor throw the thing out of the window, and they couldn't let him do that.

Instead... "I just want to look." He'd take a look at every photo and every video on that laptop, no matter how long it took, no matter how gruesome the scenes. No more surprises.  
Malik shared a look with Altair, who nodded, and Connor took the laptop with a soft thank-you, retreating into one of the large chairs near the TV, and flipped it back open.

-=-=-=-

It started with a walk around the hotel. Then further, passed a few monuments coated with the grandeur and splendor uniquely Renaissance, baroque. Elaborate and exuberant. Ziio would scoff at it if seen. So would Connor, in all probability.

He continued walking, though the pace lessened somewhat.

obviously known what happened to her, burning flesh in all its glory occasionally haunted him though he never thought to bring it up again. It would change nothing to linger on the past.

Simply, viewing her face as nothing more than a solid, blocked cross- she had been dehumanized to a target. They all were. Their lives and history, lovers and children, elders left behind to wonder what could have occurred, what may have been.

It wasn't until the twilight hours that he realized he'd been gone for over an hour, and Haytham turned on heel to make his way back.  
With pizza. There was a kitchen but he was in no mood to cook, besides it was his way of saying 'if I worried you, here's food. Now move on.'

Three pies with various toppings were barely kept balanced as he fumbled with the room key, only to have Altair open the door, frowning. "The hell did you g- Oh pizza, sweet."

Malik facepalmed in the background, Haytham shrugging. Worked like a _charm._

It did take him a moment to locate Connor, Altair taking the pizza's from him as he peaked his head over the lap top, viewing the contents upside down and obstructing his son's view. "... how long have you been watching these?" It was obvious what they were, Malik answering for Connor.

"Since you left."

Haytham didn't respond, watching whoever the poor boy was get pummeled by another equally unlucky man, before pulling up a chair, wordlessly.  
It was a rare moment when words were not necessary, Haytham settling down beside his son and viewing the contents. A few minutes passed that was before he took his hand and squeezed, eyes remaining on the screen.

They'd pay. All of them.

-=-=-=-

He had to force himself to keep watching. Each photo, each video was worse than the last. More blood, more torture, more death...

He was aware of the eyes on him, Malik and Altair giving him worried glances. Twice, Malik tried to convince him to give him the laptop and both times Connor ignored him, offering only a small shake of his head.

How many of these people on the screen were still alive, he wondered? How many had bled out in the sand of the pits? How many had succumbed to their wounds? How many of them had been discarded as trash, as damaged goods, and left to die in their cells?

He had muted the sounds of the video he was watching now. He couldn't bare to listen to the sounds of people cheering, of bones snapping, the harsh thuds of fists and kicks, the cries of pain. Two boys, the footage was too gritty to make out their apparent age. This was the fifth video already and in three of them, one of the fighters had died on screen. He really should stop watching, in the previous video the losing fighter had been gutted, left to clutch his intestines in the sand.

He should stop watching, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. That could have been him.

That _had_ been him.

He barely noticed his father's presence sitting next to him until he felt a touch on his hand, a reassuring squeeze and Connor gasped softly. He blinked and tore his eyes away from the screen, meeting grey eyes with his own. His eyes were watery and he took a deep breath, looking at the screen again as the fight ended. Both boys were dragged away, both still alive though one looked bad... it didn't matter. By now, they were most likely both dead already anyway.

He closed the laptop and set it on the coffee table, shoving it away and turned to face his father. He didn't care that Malik or Altair saw; taking Haytham's hand in his own he scooted closer and rested his head on his father's shoulder, closing his eyes. He didn't care, right now he needed the comfort from his father and lover both.

He shouldn't have viewed the laptop's contents. It brought back memories.

-=-=-=-

Glassy eyes. Large, brown eyes on the verge of shedding tears. Words remained absent as Connor turned to rest his head on his shoulder, shielding himself. Grey eyes didn't bother to peer at Malik nor Altair.

Of all his lovers Connor was the by far the most in need of physical support and reassurance, something Haytham had trouble providing from time to time. This however, came more naturally, in a moment he too could perhaps use comfort, in an unconventional mean for him.

Perhaps it's why a wordless, tight embrace was merited, why he shut his own eyes and pressed his forehead to the top of his son's head.

Nothing. He said nothing for minutes, the shuffling of Altair and Malik about barely visible. When he did speak it was low, with a thick swallow. "You haven't eaten all day, Connor." Neither had he. He probably wasn't hungry, and Haytham could not blame him in entirety. It just didn't change the requirement of strength, or vigilance needed.

Nor did it change the conversation they needed to have.

It was only then Haytham moved his head away from Connor, hand in the same spot.  
"We're going to stay in Italy for a while longer, before moving onward." It was said with finality, grey eyes darting to address both Malik and Altair. "It is my preference that you stay, perhaps consider it a well deserved vacation if nothing else. However if afterwards we part ways, I'll understand."

"Can we go on those little boat thingies?" Through a mouth full of pizza Altair shrugged as Malik face palmed for the third time that day. 

"Gondola, you uneducated novice."

"Yeah whatever those... oh, and can we got to Rome? I wanna see the Colosseum!"

"That's hours away from here."

"We have a week, we can where ever!"

"Mm." Malik shrugged still eyeing the pair on the chair, Haytham otherwise unmoving.

"If Ezio doesn't come along, we're still in this."

"Well duh Malik, that was a given!"

"If it was a given he wouldn't of asked, novice!"

"...oh." Offering a somewhat chipper smile through his mouth full of food, Altair gave a thumbs up. "We're with you guys until the end. But next time we're taking the cats."

-=-=-=-

Stay in Italy?

Connor frowned, not moving from his comfortable spot plastered against Haytham's side. It made sense he supposed. These last few months had been so very stressful, filled with training and making plans. And even after the attack on the Bali den, which had _almost_ gone completely to hell, nearly killing some of them, they hadn't had time to relax.

It might do them good to stay in Venice for a few days and unwind. Be human again. It would do them good, it would be all too easy to succumb to all the violence and the stress, the death that seemed to follow them, especially because there didn't seem to be an end to the tunnel in sight yet.

Connor ignored the pizza; it was true he hadn't eaten much to begin with today, but hunger continued to evade him even now. He did accept the coffee Malik made for him, who had also made some tea for Haytham and they spent most of the evening in front of the tv. Not that Connor was really paying attention to the movie that was currently on; it was all in Italian and it didn't have subtitling.

He wondered how Ezio was doing... he had seemed so upset when they left. He deserved to know the truth, even if it was harsh. Truth was always ugly, Connor had learned. It was a fact of life.

Glancing at the clock he sighed and slowly untangled himself from his father; it was only 10 but they hadn't gotten much sleep last night and they were all still suffering from jet lag. "I'm going to bed." Standing up he nodded at the others, who bid him good night, Altair patting him on the arm as he passed, and quietly slipped into the bathroom he would share with Haytham; it was the room with the master bed. The other room held two separate bed, so it made sense that he and Haytham had taken this one. For some reason, he couldn't quite see Malik and Altair share one bed.

Stripping quickly Connor glanced at the window and decided against sleeping naked, despite the heat, and pulled on a pair of sweat pants instead. They weren't home, it felt awkward. Drawing the curtains he flicked off the light and crawled under the covers, looking forward to a long night of real rest.

-=-=-=-

He could vaguely follow the movie, the plot thin. Italian had been a learned language and he was fair at it, if not simply rusty. He did watch Malik with a sense of interest, unsure whether he followed the story or if he was perhaps, a wonderful actor. Or was going by subtle facial gestures and expressions to gain knowledge of the concept.

Had they been alone he would have called it a night with his son, turning to perhaps lay beside him. He needed the comfort, it was all too clear, yet he was bound to stay if only to not appear entirely to obvious. Honestly they shared a bed, anymore hints, no matter the subtlety may give them away.

He attempted to allow the movie to distract him, recognizing the film as an Alberto Banini and the current song as one by Tiziano Ferro, though he couldn't place the name. A shame so few he knew spoke Italian, Opera never sounded as lovely in other languages.

Altair was the next to want to sleep, Malik staying awake with Haytham until the end of the movie, Haytham considering asking him whether he spoke the language before waving the question away. For another time. He did ache and was exhausted, and a bed with the warmth that was Connor called to him.

He bid Malik goodnight after washing the two mugs they'd used, squeezing his shoulder before traveling to the master bedroom, watching Connor just a moment, a few lights trickling in from even the drawn shades. Young and at peace, the way he should look if not for everything. And yet he couldn't curse the tragic fate, as it was what brought them together thusly. And to himself, he could admit enjoying being romantically linked to his troubled lad.

It was amusing, even after he'd grown so immensely, the lad still lay on his side, towards the edge of the bed, as if waiting for him to curl behind him. Admittedly he could no longer leave his arm around what was an incredibly broad chest. He disrobed somewhat chest bare but legs clad in what were silk pajama pants, his body curling around Connor's and his arm instead draping to fit around his waist.

His own head dipped into Connor's shoulder, inhaling his. Scent and nuzzling before drifting off. Really, this was a mutual comfort, a reminder that he had not lost all.

He slept peacefully, silently, until the whimpering began. He was never a heavy sleeper but exhaustion got the better of it and he attempted to ignore the sound, sleep addled mind unable to piece together the obvious until Connor began squirming, enough to wake him.

And his whimpers far beyond that, even if nervous and jumbled.

Grey eyes snapped open and sheets twisted, and he fumbled while sitting upright, shaking a broad shoulder. "Lad? Lad, get up."

Panicked sounds of terror were his only response and Haytham tried again, this time firmly shaking Connor's shoulder as he began to thrash. "Connor, wake up." More pleas and jumbled cried and Haytham's brow furrowed. Those clips, he shouldn't have watched them... He could have expected this to happen!

In an attempt to calm him each leg planted on either side of his son's waist, Haytham going for louder, shaking both shoulder. "Connor get up, it's just a night-"

Oh, he awoke. He awoke so suddenly he practically catapulted upright, knocking Haytham backward until he was sprawled amongst the sheets, but the thrashing cost him his balance, and he tumbled to the floor head first with a thud.

Not entirely pleasant, and he hissed when his bruised shoulder made contact with tile- but there was no more thrashing, and he dare rise to his feet.

"Lad, your in Venice. You're alright. You're not in a pit. Can you acknowledge that for me, with a nod?"

-=-=-=-

His heart felt like it was beating a thousand times per second, so fast it was making him feel light headed, the room spinning around in his vision. Cold sweat dribbled down his spine and his fingers tingled in the aftermath of his panic. It had looked so real, _felt_ so real... the sand between his toes, the yells of the spectators, the filthy air, the pain in his knuckles, his face, his stomach, everywhere.

Cutter.

Someone was talking but the worlds seemed distant, not quite... reaching him. Where was he? His fingers clenched in the sheets... soft. Not sand. Fabric. Sheets?

Bed.

A real bed, not a cot, but a soft bed, with soft sheets and...

Venice. Italy. Not Brazil.

Dad?

Blinking Connor sucked in a loud gasp and clutched the sheets tighter in his hands when his surroundings finally became clear to him and his eyes fell on his father, standing in front of the bed. A nightmare then... he hadn't had a nightmare like that since...

"I..." he stammered and licked his lips, so dry, his breathing still too fast and with a trembling hand he covered his eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut. Calm down... calm down... it was just a dream. He was not in the pits, like dad said, and Cutter... Cutter was _dead!_

"I'm... I'm a-alright." He shivered; despite the warmth he was cold, drench in cold sweat, and so were the sheets. Gods, he had woken his father up again, made him worry... "I'm sorry..." he whispered. His throat felt thick and dry and he quickly dropped his hand again; even with his eyes open it was still dark... where was the light switch again?

"I... didn't hurt you, did I?" Wouldn't be the first time... and even though he couldn't exactly help it, he felt bad about it anyway. "I-I'm sorry, I thought... I thought I was p-passed this..." And he had been! He hadn't had nightmares in nearly two months!

A sharp knock on the door, and Connor jumped, turning his head to stare at the door with wide open eyes, and through the wood sounded Malik's voice. "Everything okay in there? Haytham?"

-=-=-=-

Passed this? Brows furrowed, Haytham yearning to comment on both that and his own 'state of hurt.' As if he couldn't recover from a little topple off the bed. This was nothing he couldn't handle, nor something Connor should be ashamed of.

"Everything okay in there? Haytham?"

Perhaps he'd taken a fall harder then expected. "We're fine, I took a tumble out of bed is all." He factored in telling Malik the whole truth, but it wasn't his to tell. Connor was shaken enough as was. Still, in good faith, he added: "I'll meet you momentarily, bloodied my nose some, alright?"

"... so long as you're alright."

"Mhm. Gratitude for the concern."

He waited until the soft padding of footsteps lessened, taking a seat by Connor's side and exhaling before addressing him. "Funny, knocking me out of bed concerns you, but leaving me to a horde of armed men is fine. Your logic is flawed." It was meant as a joke, really, though Haytham sighed as Connor looked no less frazzled.

"I'm fine, lad. More concerned about those videos you seemingly witnessed." As a distraction, he played with dampened dark hair, undoing the band that kept it back just barely and tousling it further.

Not the greatest idea, to relive such events. And with a soft murmur he added that fact, continuing. "It's only expected after everything. There's no sense in aggravating yourself, perhaps when all is said and done in totality the dreams with cease. Until then, take solace knowing we will free those in captivity to the best of our abilities."

He tied hair back again, neater, still fully unable to see brown eyes. "If I cannot tempt you with sleep, can I perhaps offer you an espresso and a long bath?" There was enough room in the tub for Connor alone, and he'd no qualms remaining awake, given the circumstance. Though he too much preferred rest.

"Bare in mind, we're going to ride the 'boat thingie' today as Altair so eloquently put it, but you're adult enough to decide this." So long as he didn't fall asleep in the gondola, he wasn't light, even in water. He'd leave it to him regardless, settling against the headboard as he awaited response. They could all use a few days of recuperation, sans the laptop and it's contents.

-=-=-=-

A bath? A bath sounded great but... one quick glance at the clock told him it was already a little over 2 in the morning.

Then again, what did that matter? There wouldn't be anymore sleeping for him tonight and a hot bath would definitely help him relax. But it was still 2 in the morning and his father needed the rest... as the leader his job had been the most stressful one, and he was the oldest... surely his body needed it the most.

"Go back to sleep dad... I appreciate the offer but..." He offered a small smile. "I'll draw a bath myself. You don't have to stay up for me." He really didn't... he'd feel guilty if Haytham did. "I'm fine... I'm... just gonna chill for a while and... and tomorrow we can do the boat thing." Whether he'd be able to stay awake was a whole different matter, but he'd try his best.

He leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a soft kiss. His tongue darted out to trace the seam and slipped in when access was given, slowly entwining it with his father's.  
Connor kept it short and pulled back just enough to press their foreheads together, and closed eyes, drawing his arms up to wrap around his father's shoulders.

"Wouldn't say no to one of your espressos though..."

-=-=-=-

He thought to argue it but if he were to be honest, he was exhausted. In all honesty, had he taken a bath he would have fallen asleep while the water still lay warm. He could however live up to the espresso, and perhaps a standard cup of coffee. Or cappuccino. Depending on how long he could keep his eyes op-

Oh. He parted his lips, their kiss a soft one. He blamed his inability to open his eyes immediately on his state of unrest rather then the minute tingle of his belly and lips.

"Mm." An espresso then, and perhaps that cappuccino. Then rest. He stayed put for a moment longer, fighting at least briefly to not re-initiate a kiss, cursing his libido which was never quite this active until lately. A day alone may do wonders if they could afford one.

He pushed the thought aside and freed himself softly, squeezing a broad shoulder before ignoring him and heading to the bathroom to turn on the faucet, wetting and drying his face over the sink. In an attempt to remain alert. He'd always been a horror to awaken, and although he did want to stay awake, their was a good chance he would remain unable to do so.

He sparred Connor a wink as he exited their room to make espresso, noting Malik was still in fact awake. And alert. And while not a conversationalist to Connor, he was company.

"Your nose alright?" He slipped through a magazine nonchalantly.

"Mm? Oh yes, quite." He paused setting about the small kitchenette. "Espresso, cappuccino, coffee...?"

"Coffee."

To it then, and Haytham let the comfortable silence settle before prompting softly. "Connor isn't sleeping well and if I'm to be frank..."

"I'll stay up with him." He flipped through a magazine again, Haytham silent for just a moment before sighing. 

"He had a nightmare."

"You don't say." Grey eyes narrowed, but Malik looked up with somewhat softened eyes. "I can imagine why, he's a little dense."

"You don't say."

Duplicate lip twitches and Haytham went about scurrying, yawning widely before he was stopped. "What's left, pouring?"

"Yes."

"Go to sleep, Haytham. I can handle it from here."

And he should negate the offer, but needing to shake his head to prevent falling asleep mid standing was proof enough, and he let Malik to it, bidding him goodnight.

Waltzing into their shared bathroom, Haytham offered Connor a peck on the forehead, and in his tired state his libido was unable to register the nude handsome man beneath the water. "Malik is staying awake with you, go keep him company once you've finished here." A pause, and he ruffled hair once before slumping off to their bed, settling in tousled sheets.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

-=-=-=-

Connor blinked slowly. Malik?

He didn't want to talk to Malik.

"Kay... good night..." He waited until Haytham was back in bed and sighed, before dunking his head under the spray of water. No doubt Malik would ask him questions, questions he didn't want to answer. He sighed and took his time, rinsing his body clean of cold sweat before he finally stepped out of the tub - fifteen minutes. That had been the shortest bath ever. Quickly drying off he pulled on a shirt and switched off the light, before tiptoeing into the bedroom. Haytham wasn't moving, it was clear he was already fast asleep, hogging a pillow because he didn't have his 'little spoon' to cuddle up to.

With a small smile Connor moved closer and adjusted the sheets, draping them a little further over his body and leaned closer to press a soft kiss on pepper colored hair. He owed his dad so much, all the things he had done for him... and he still often felt he wasn't doing enough to show his appreciation. Running off certainly hadn't done that.

Sighing he quietly left the bedroom and find Malik seated at the kitchen able, as expected.

"Hey, got coffee for you."

"Thanks..." Sitting down in a chair he curled his fingers around the steaming mug and braced himself for the questions to come. He didn't have to wait long.

"Still having nightmares, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Hm... wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." Grabbing a spoon he stuck it in the steaming liquid, noting it already held sugar and creamer, and sighed. "... I dreamed about the pits." He shrugged. "And Cutter."

"Ah..." Malik's eyes softened, but Connor was more than relieved that the man looked away from him to focus on his own coffee. Silence fell over them and after Malik had slowly finished his drink he stood up to wash it in the sink. "Are you gonna be alright?"

Connor nodded. "Yeah, I'm... just gonna relax for a while, watch some tv." Even if he couldn't even understand one word of Italian. "You can go back to bed if you want." Malik did look tired, and while Connor appreciated his companionship (especially because he hadn't asked _much)_ he wanted to relax alone for a while.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Right... well, I'd say good night but... I guess I'll see you in a few hours. Altair wants to ride the gondola." Rolling his eyes Malik set his cup away and clapped Connor on the shoulder, squeezing gently before walking back to the bedroom he shared with Altair. Connor finished his own coffee and rinsed the mug under the sink. Relaxing on the couch, that was what he looked forward to. It would give him plenty of time to think about something he could do for his father sometime soon; definitely no easy feet. But he'd think of something.

And tomorrow he'd make sure to pleasant company for them all. 

-=-=-=-

He'd slept longer than expected, eyes not cracking open blearily until well into mid morning, which seemingly followed suit with everyone else. He was in a sense elated and surprised to wake to Connor beside him, regardless of whether or not the lad received rest. He daren't question it, settling for what was becoming a morning ritual. He'd swear Connor- while a fair kisser to begin with- had perfected the craft as of late. He'd almost admit to tingling lips as they parted a final time, little affirmative pecks left repeatedly, even if chaste, as if reminding him he was there, present, his.

Whether intentional or not the gesture had offered comfort, and with what happened a few short days prior, it was a nice touch. Perhaps a step in the right direction. Or so he'd like to believe, although given Connor's now infamous temper-

No. No, not today. Haytham parted from Connor and squeezed his shoulder before exiting their room to put coffee on. He would not harp on the lad's prior misgivings, not while they could finally get a few days rest in. 

He was hardly surprised to find Malik entering the living area at about the same time as he did. What did leave him surprised was Altair, who looked wide awake. And appeared to be dressed. And if he was not mistaken, twitching.

He hadn't a moment before it began: "When can we go? How long will it take to get there? D-did you guys need to shower still? Is there a quick place to eat on the way? Can we-"

"Altair-" Haytham rose his hand before Malik could say whatever was on his mind. By the looks of it, it involved murder.

Instead Haytham merely pointed to the clock which read eight fifty-eight. "I will tell you what I told my son not but some months ago. Do not wake me before nine, if I am to awaken of my own accord, do not speak to me until nine o' one or until I've began to ingest my first of what is many small doses of caffeine." He gestured to the small peculator filled with English breakfast tea, compliments of the hotel. Not fresh, but it was still better then he weak American brew. 

"Waking or starting a conversation with me before the allotted time may result in injury up to and potentially including death by a repeated stapler or letter opener to the jugular." He frowned before momentarily picking up what was his combat boot. Malik's amused, lopsided grin could be seen well across the room, Altair seemingly listening intently. "Seeing how I lack said implements, death by repeated boot the head will suffice as I am far too exhausted to call the help desk and request a knife." That and he'd have to clean it. No, this was his vacation too.

Amber met grey, unblinking, voice as calm and nonchalant as could be. "Any commentary or questions?"

A tentative hand raised, and Haytham eyebrow did with it, grey eyes rolling. "Yes, Altair?"

"So does that mean there is a place to eat on the way...?" His smile remained even as Haytham cuffed him lightly behind the head with the heal of his boot, giving up in favor of ruffling his head a little harder then necessary. He accepted his tea without a second glace as Malik handed it to him, giving his shoulder a squeeze before sitting beside him before Altair bounded off into their room, no doubt to 'wake' Connor up the same way Connor woke him on numerous occasions.

It was routine, all of it. He sipped what was more then a decent cup of tea, relaxing for a moment. He was rather... accustomed to it now.

-=-=-=-

A few cups of coffee, some leftover cold slices of pizza and thirty minutes later saw them all on their way to the nearest gondola stop, after Altair had dragged a disgruntled, sleepy Connor out of the bedroom. Altair was nearly skipping in his excitement to ride one of these 'boat thingies', to the point it was just plain uncharacteristic.

The gondolier's English wasn't perfect, but understandable nonetheless, especially combined with his enthusiasm leading them into his gondola. Connor settled in the back, close to where the gondolier stood, Haytham next to him and Malik took his place in front of them both. As expected, Altair sat as close to the front as he could with an excited gleam in his eyes. Honestly, Connor couldn't quite fathom why he was so excited. This whole gondola affair seemed rather boring to him. The view was nice, sure, going through the small canals and passing underneath bridges, watching people having breakfast in little cafe's and lunchrooms built along either side of the canal.

It was fun for five minutes... then it started getting tedious. Sighing Connor braced his elbows against the decorated edge of the gondola and peered into the water, watching his reflection stare back at him as he listened to Haytham and Malik talk. Honestly, he was still tired, despite having gone back to bed after lounging on the couch for a while. That had only given him, what... one hour of sleep though? Before being rudely awoken by Altair jumping on top of him and dragging him out again.

He glanced at the man, who seemed unable to sit still, half out of his seat, much to Malik's frustration. "Altair, sit back down for Christ's sake!"

"Pft, I'm king of the world."

"... you're on a gondola, not the fucking Titanic. Now sit your ass down before you topple the whole thing over with your squirming and sink us all."

"It's not gonna sink, Malik. Chill-"

"It will sink when it wants to, novice. Don't make me push you in."

Grumbling Altair glared at him and flopped back into his seat. "You're no fun. These boats are decent and-"

"Titanic was decent but that still didn't stop that iceberg from sinking it, didn't it?"

"... that doesn't even make sense. There are no icebergs in Italy."

A roll of dark eyes and Malik sighed dramatically. "I _know_ that. Just sit still. Altair is afraid of water." he added with a grin as he turned, and Altair bristled.

"I'm not!"

"You can't even swim."

"I can! I just don't like it. I'm human, I need to have something solid underneath my feet, it's only natural."

"Yeah right, and you didn't totally freak out last year when we visited-"

"Alright alright, zip it."

Pleased with himself Malik turned to Haytham again to continue their conversation, but Connor kept his eyes on Altair who had just pulled out his cell phone and looked at the screen with a confused look in his amber eyes, before accepting the call. From where he was seated Connor couldn't hear the actual conversation, but the shift in Altair's expression was clear as day, confusion making way to disbelief. The conversation was short, barely taking up more than a minute and as Altair lowered the phone he cleared his throat. "Guys, I..." Swallowing his hold on the phone tightened and he looked up, staring straight into Haytham's eyes. Connor sat up straighter, curiosity piqued; what was going on?

"I just... had Ezio on the phone. He wants to talk to us, now, at a restaurant nearby."

"Ezio?" Scratching the back of his neck Malik frowned and blinked. "Did he say why?"

"No... but he sounded pretty serious. So, can we?" The question was directed at Haytham and all eyes fell on him. What did Ezio want?

-=-=-=-

Every pair of eyes fell on him, waiting. It was almost comical, how he commanded the attention of grown men well into their twenties as if he was their...

Leader.

Well... it did make sense, in a way. And it touched him with a twinge of pride. "I see no reason to refuse."

In what was a conversation of broken Italian and English alike, Haytham managed to convince the man to dock. The sizeable amount of money squashed and potential hard feelings for his efforts before they began what was a quick excursion to the nearby restaurant, Haytham surprised to find Leonardo seated across from his friend, wringing his hands repetitiously.

His curiosity only peaked he banished any pre-conceived notion aside. Leonardo moved closer to Ezio, making way for the four of them as they approached and Haytham sat down between he and Connor, Altair taking a seat close to his cousin, brows furrowed. "Is everything alright?"

"No, he will not listen to _reason."_ Blue met amber; Leonardo's tone was nearly pleading and Ezio clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Amicio mio it is something I must-"

"No, no it isn't! You musn't do any of this, you're insisting on it." His accent was thicker when upset, and he cast what was something between a remorseful and sorrowful gaze at the group in front of him. They told him the truth and he deserved that much but this... this was beyond reason, beyond justification!

And still Ezio, after hours of being inconsolable, made the decision and stuck with it. It may have only been twelve hours but Leonardo knew his dear friend well. There was no talking him out of anything his hard head wanted, and the fire in his eyes- he wanted this. Vengeance. Death. In a vicious cycle wrought to continue.

How could he sit by and watch this without voicing his distaste?

And yet it had no affect, Ezio's nose high in the air as he looked over the group, and he whimpered as he spoke, unable to keep his own anguish within.

"I'm coming with you."

-=-=-=-

... he what?

The expression he saw on the others matched his own, or at least Connor thought they did as he stared at Ezio with blatant shock. He wanted to come with them? "Uh... do you know what you're saying here? As in, do you really know?"

"I do." Ezio's expression remained dead serious, a determined gleam in his dark amber eyes. There was no swaying him from this path. He had made his decision and not even Leonardo could persuade him from it! "I understand the risks and I understand the offers." Pressing his fist down on the table he leaned forward, and his eyes shifted from Connor to Haytham - it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was the leader of this group. It was his acceptance he needed. "After everything you've told me, do you really think that I will sit back and do nothing? This is my _family!_ My mother and sister are still alive. I have to protect them. I have to find who is responsible for this."

"Ezio, per favore!" Leonardo's tone was pleading as he gripped his friend's sleeve, the look in his large blue eyes begging him to stay. "See reason! How is more violence the answer? You know what they do, how can you want that too?"

"I don't want to do it, Leonardo." he sighed and turned in his chair, gripping his friend's hand in his own. "But I have to, don't you see? Whoever did this needs to pay."

"But someone else can do that! Why do you have to-"

"Leonardo, you heard what Mr. Kenway said yesterday. The government won't do anything. I understand why they decided to take matters into their own hands. You all have personal reasons, don't you?" he added and turned to them.

"That's correct." Altair answered. "We all have different reasons, but they're all valid and we all want the same thing; to put an end to this."

Ezio nodded, seemingly relieved with that answer, morbid as it was. Leonardo still didn't seem convinced though. "But _taking lives,_ Ezio?" he hissed, careful to keep his voice down so the other people in the restaurant wouldn't hear them.

"I'm not asking you to come with me, Leonardo... You've done so much for me already, allowing me a place to stay after..." Swallowing thickly Ezio blinked rapidly and swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. "... I have to do this. I've had all night to think about it and... this is something I have to do. Signore," Ezio turned to face Haytham again and laced his fingers together, resting them on the table. "I know you don't know me but surely you could use the extra help? I'm willing to do whatever it takes, train however long I need to. To avenge and protect my family, per favore, let me come along?"

-=-=-=-

Conviction and determination. It was is every word, even as Leonardo pleaded with him, and as grey eyes met his it was all very compelling. His reasons were sound, as justifiable as their own. He'd known little of Malik and Altair before asking them to take such risks, and here was a young man wanting to do so of his own volition.

That lead to two notable problems.

He met his eyes as he explained, never flinching. "Your desires are noble, and your reasoning sound." He paused, watching a ghost of a smile pass over young features before it faltered with his next word. 

"However, the fact remains you took entirely to short a period to consider this. It was months before any of us decided that this was the right decision. This leads me to consider perhaps an aspect of impulsive behavior and naiveté." And it went without saying his son fulfilled that particular group problem. Ezio opened his mouth to speak but Haytham halted him with a quick glare, continuing. Well, he listened to gestures better than Connor...

"Secondly, months of training- very physical and labor intensive training- went into the cause. While possible to teach you, you'll have a considerable amount of catching up to do."

He offered a look that softened his eyes around the edges. "Bare in mind, I am not directly refusing your offer. As it were, we will be here for the remainder of the week. Sleep on the idea, think about the work needed, the people you're leaving behind-" he gave a meaningful look towards Leonardo, twitching. He too had a friend he'd need leave behind...

He had to shake his head to banish the thought. "... keep in touch with us, lad. Before we leave, if your decision remains the same, I'll accept your proposal."

-=-=-=-

Connor nodded slowly. Haytham made some good points there. He could easily understand Ezio's desire to join them, but he really hadn't thought this through. Did he even realize how incredibly dangerous this was? He clearly knew that what they were doing involved taking the lives of others, involved going into life threatening situations, but did he really understand the impact of all of this, the sacrifices that would have to be made?

How this would change his life completely upside down, never to go back to normal? Revenge was what was driving Ezio, but it wouldn't bring back his parents, just like none of this would bring back Ziio, or Kadar or any of the other prisoners that had been killed.

Haytham was right. This seemed like an impulsive decision, and Connor agreed on his father's choice to force Ezio to think about it for a while longer. And then, if he still wanted this... then yes. They would accept him.

Ezio did not look entirely pleased with Haytham's decision, but he nodded anyway. Leonardo on the other hand looked immensely relieved to be given a few more days to perhaps sway his friend's mind on the matter. Whatever the decision would end up being, he could contact Altair on his cell phone before they left Italy. As much as Connor liked it here, the warm climate, the friendly people... he was eager to go back home, back to familiar surroundings.

Chair legs scraped over the floor as they all stood up. Connor shook hands with both Leonardo and Ezio - mostly because that's what the others did as well and he'd rather not have his father elbow him again for showing a lack of proper social manners - when he shook Ezio's hand though, their eyes met and Connor's breath hitched in his throat.

He felt like... like he had to say something, but what? Did he hope that Ezio would still say he wanted to join after thinking about it for a few days? Well... yes... it would be nice to have someone on the team who was around his own age. Altair could be fun and all, but he was like eight years older than he - their interests differed. And Malik was too serious and brooding, not someone to really have a laugh with. He missed having a friend in his own age group around, someone who would understand the things that people his age found important, or funny or... like how it was with Shaun and Myriam. He hadn't talked to them in a while... they were drifting apart and part of him did feel greatly saddened about it, loosing that part of his old life as well... but staying close friends simply wasn't realistic anymore. There was so much he'd have to keep a secret from them, so much he'd have to lie about... their lives were still normal... he wouldn't drag them into this and possibly endanger them by getting them involved. It was one of the sacrifices.

Ezio though, Ezio was willing to get involved. Yes, Connor hoped that he would stick to his decision in the days to come. 

He held Ezio's hand for a few seconds longer than necessary and it wasn't until he noted the growing frown on his face when he wouldn't let go that Connor quickly untangled his hand from him. Right, awkward!  
"Well, bye then." he muttered and quickly turned to follow his father out of the restaurant, leaving Ezio with Leonardo.

-=-=-=-

Flights were always incredibly hectic. Traveling with multiple people only increased the stress involved. Even with a private plane escorting them back into New York, and despite what was a fairly relaxing vacation of sight seeing and an overabundance of food, the question remained unanswered as Altair waited by his phone, checking every so often to ensure a signal remained.

They'd leave in an hour, text messages sent and calls made, and they'd yet to hear response. Not that Haytham blamed the lad, the decision had been impulsive. It was simply that another pair of hands would have been more then appreciated.

Still, this was the reason the option had been left open. And unfortunately for Altair and his very prominent frown, they had to leave to make it to the small airport in time, Haytham grabbing a few bags himself and squeezing Connor's shoulder.

Altair hardly seemed like the sole person who was disappointed.

"Come on, lads, time to go." It was gentler than it need be, Altair's face set into a small frown. He'd expected him to call. To say he was disappointed would be an understatement.

"Yeah, yeah okay." Tucking his phone away, Altair sighed and made his way to the door. His sigh was an audible one, as was the clap Malik left on his shoulder.

It wasn't until they loaded everything into the rented car that the phone buzzed loudly. Within seconds Altair tore it from his pocket and checked the caller's name, shutting off the radio in entirety as he spoke, placing the phone on speaker. "Cutting it a little short there, Ezio."

 _"Mi dispiace."_ It sounded genuinely apologetic, his voice. If not slightly irritated. _"I've been attempting to talk Leonardo out of something-"_

_"If you're going I am too, we've nothing to talk about."_

_"Cazzo Leonardo, you are not coming along, it's not safe!"_

Blinking Altair offered grey eyes a shrug, everyone focused on the phone. 

_"We're going into these... places with the intent of killing. Leonardo, for you to fire a gun-"_

_"I'm an engineer and artist, Ezio, let's not pretend my creations could not be put to use in this type of situation. I wouldn't have to look at the... the gore and-"_

_"You don't even like the idea of it!"_

_"I don't have to like it, people are murdered for less everyday-"_

"Gentlemen." Haytham's voice remained silken, commanding silence. "... I take it the answer is yes?"

Two duplicate responses were heard, Leonardo agreeing while Ezio dissented, purely on the basis that Leonardo was joining them. And the bickering continued.

-=-=-=-

_"I won't let you do this on your own, Ezio!"_

_"I won't be on my own, I'll be with them!"_

_"You know that's not what I meant. Seeing that I clearly can't change your mind, I'm coming with you and that's final!"_

_"But what about your workshop? Your clients? You're gonna leave them behind?"_

_"And what about Claudia and your mother, hm? You're leaving them behind to go on a mad quest!"_

Ooooh, touché. As amusing as their back-and-forth bickering was though, they did not have time for this. Connor shared a look with Altair, who sighed and quickly cut in before the bickering continued. "Guys, enough. If you really want to come then we'll come get you. Have you packed?"

A dual "Si." and Altair immediately yanked the wheel, turning the car to the right. "Be ready then, we'll be there in five. We were just on the way to the airport."

_"Ah, but what about tickets?"_

"Don't worry about tickets." Connor intervened before Altair could answer that question. "We came with a private jet. Rich dad, remember?" He caught Haytham's eyes at that and a smirk tugged at his lips before he looked at the phone again. "Just be ready. And no more bickering, save your aggression for training. You're gonna need that."

With that the connection severed and Connor leaned back in his seat, pleased. Ezio was joining! And Leonardo, while unexpected, was right! His skills in engineering could be of use!

Five minutes later saw them parking in front of Leonardo's workshop. The front door already opened before they had even left the car, Ezio and Leonardo both dragging traveling cases out of the door. "New York, right?" Leonardo asked as Altair helped him stuff his bags into the trunk of the car - a very tight fit indeed. "Perhaps I can rent the place... so I can come back, if we survive this."

Altair didn't answer. It was unlikely that Leonardo would join them in the field. Ezio, yes... but not Leonardo. He wasn't type; he'd be much better suited to stay behind with Malik to help from a distance. They could really use an engineer, and Leonardo had lots of medical knowledge as well. He was a very welcome addition, but... Altair couldn't help but wonder if this would all work out like they hoped it would.

It was a tight fit, the four of them squeezing themselves in the back of the car while Haytham and Altair sat in the front. Feeling mildly claustrophobic, squeezed in between Malik and Ezio, Connor locked eyes with the latter and managed a small grin, pleased to see that the determined gleam in Ezio's eyes hadn't diminished yet. "Welcome on the team, I suppose."

"Hm, grazie." He offered a grin in return and both faced forward again and Altair stepped on the gas and sped towards the airport.

They were finally going back home, Connor mused, and perhaps... perhaps he had really gained a new friend.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry for the long wait! I mean it! I would have gotten it out sooner if I could. At least Girlsloveyaoi will have more free time soon and I hope that in a few weeks my own situation will calm down a bit. At least I'm not sick anymore, yay!
> 
> Thank you for your patience and sticking with us! You guys are the best readers an author could wish for! <3333 We still have lots of fun Plot Points to cover (well, fun for us, feels and tears for you >D)!
> 
> Please enjoy, no warnings for this chapter. Unbetáed, please report any grave errors or missing chunks of text, you never know with html, it has fucked up my chapters here before.

Whether it was the cold front from Canada or simply an earlier change of season- being the equinox itself was still a week away- he could not say. Simply the chill and drizzle neglected to hamper what was the scenery stricken as they passed Central Park. Oak, maple, a few well placed birch- their red and golden hued leaves stood out especially well against the drab dreariness said light rain brought. Skyscrapers bore their metallic sheen as a dulled grey hue, and even then they were impressively tall, foreboding to some.

The small Westchester airport to which they arrived was a further drive to the financial district than JFK or LaGuardia, but far better to make a private, personal trip. That and the traffic over the Whitestone was hardly comparable to the Manhattan or Brooklyn bridge, let alone the Belt Parkway.

He'd simply wished his sports car afforded more room, Connor was large enough for two seats and Altair and Ezio were far from small. 

Admittedly, he much preferred his own seat, Malik beside him comfortably. At last leading a bunch of rowdier kids under the guise of leadership showed a perk.

As did having his own reserved parking space inside his building. And suitable arms to carry the majority of the luggage leaving him free to debate with Malik. Honestly, tobouille better than hummus on shawarma? Absolutely not. 

Exhausted as they all were, spirits seemed fairly high, with Ezio and Connor immersed in conversation, Altair downloading new Amr Diab singles and Leonardo...

Well he'd said fairly high, not entirely high. Grey eyes watched momentarily before refocusing his attention. His thoughts were clear; Leonardo had no interest in being here save for Ezio's safety. He let out no sigh as they reached their destination, fetching the key and attempting to open the door with a minor shuffle.

But in a moment it opened for him, leaving Haytham blinking as a small giggle and familiar, slightly curled brown hair came into view. "It was nothing, Will." A fair complexion and alive eyes turned to face the hall way, almost walking straight into Haytham's chest with a surprised gasp after she added, "Thanks for the sushi!"

"Myriam, you alright-" Blue eyes came into contact with grey and they shared a moment as Haytham's door opened fully before William smiled. "Oh good your flight wasn't delayed!"

"That it was not." Haytham turned to Myriam, lips twitching. "And how are you, dear? I supposed a few introductions are necessary."

He was left to blink owlishly, the embrace a gentle one. He returned it with twitching lips a few moments later, her voice actually quite happy. "Oh I've missed you! I haven't seen you in ages!" Since Connor was arrested... a moment she rather not think of.

"Likewise." He could look back at Connor and gestured softly. "Nor he I presume?"

"No I haven't- oh my god!" She parted only to walk to Connor, awe struck as William opened the door wider, politely asking Altair about their 'supposed' visit to Syria. It was unfortunate that it was to deliver news of Kadar and spend moments grieving with family, but William asked despite that. What Haytham offered to do was beyond charitable, and Altair answered without blinking, keeping up the lie about where they had gone as Myriam pulled Connor into a hug. "You're gigantic! I can hardly fit my arms around you... that's a total compliment by the way-"

Haytham allowed them to catch up, walking into his home with Malik and Altair in tow, Leonardo bringing up the rear as Ezio remained in the hall with Connor. Curious blue eyes scanned everything as if it were the Louvre. 

Haytham's attention re-averted to William, however, watching his eyes soften as he pat Altair's shoulder. "That sounds difficult, yes. But I'm sure it was cathartic for both of you."

"In a way, it was." That was Malik, opening the door to the bedroom Alatir and he shared, Altair excusing himself to unpack. Williams attention turned back to Haytham. "And how are you?"

"Oh fairly well rested for a change." That and his apartment was spotless, the only very minor mess being what were a container of elaborately decorated sushi with most of the rolls missing save two.

"For the cats."

"Ah."

"I mean that's why I invited her." A thump and Haytham need not look down, taking what was a roll of tuna and holding it in front of Socks. William blinked, frowning. "… I couldn't even get that one out of her crate." He shook his head smiling again. "And it was either call Thomas or John with Benny being allergic or call someone who-"

"Isn't Thomas or John and won't expect a favor in the form of a hooker or a new rifle?"

"Precisely."

"Mm."

"… Mm?"

"Yes, mm."

"Why 'mm'?"

He grabbed a second roll and placed it by his feet; Paws would stop by and take it at her leisure. He spared William a look, blinking, lips twitching. 

William frowned. "No."

"Will..."

"I said no."

"All I said was Will."

"Yes and that's all you need to say-" his voice lowered as Myriam walked back in followed by Connor and Ezio, laughing at something one of them had said. "… Not that it's my business, but, who are they?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. The very Italian looking one is a distant cousin of Altair, the other is a family friend."

"Oh."

"It turns out he lost relatives as well." Eyes softened immediately, Haytham giving pause. "I invited them to stay here for a while, grieve together."

"Of course, that probably would be best for mutual reasons. A tight fit in here though."

"I'm working on it."

" I don't doubt it." It was with a squeeze to his shoulder that William departed in favor of talking to Connor. Haytham could but swallow thickly, hand tracing fur.

Lying to William- he detested it.

-=-=-=-

Myriam? What was she doing here? Connor blinked as she pounced him, thin arms wrapped around his frame. Gigantic? Wellllllll... "I've... been working out." he answered lamely as she pulled back and smirked up at him.

"I can see that! You're huge!"

He knew it was meant as a compliment; feeling a brush creep onto his cheeks Connor smirked back and rubbed the back of his neck. Next to him Ezio snickered and stepped, hand outstretched to introduce himself. "Ezio Auditore, at your service." Flashing a charming grin he shook Myriam's hand and leaned forward slightly, looking up at her through his eyelashes. "And may I just add that you truly have gorgeous eyes? The way they catch the l- Ow! Dude!"

Letting go of her hand Ezio rubbed his shoulder and glared at Connor. "What was that for? Cazzo..."

"She's off limits." He growled. Even though they hadn't seen each other in months, Myriam was still one of his best friends, and he still felt a protective streak when it concerned her. Ezio was a really cool guy and all, but it had only taken him the few hours on the plane to realize that he was a womanizer and a skirt hunter.

Ezio eyed him closely, amber eyes narrowed, and he huffed. "Is she?"

"Yes!"

"Am I?"

"... yes?"

Behind his back Ezio smirked at the sudden uncertain tone on his voice; Myriam put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes dangerously. Despite their difference in size Connor still swallowed thickly and nearly took a step back as her eyes narrowed even further, until she suddenly burst out in loud laughter. "You should have seen your face!"

All Connor could do was blink owlishly at her as she nearly doubled over, tears in her eyes. "Oh man, that was hilarious! Your face was all-" Wiping at her eyes she slowly straightened and reached up to pat his shoulder, grin still in place. "As much as I appreciate your, uh... protective ways, I can take care of myself, Connor. And I'm perfectly capable of making my own choices when it concerns men. And you are not my type." She added as Ezio took a hopeful step forward.

Still grinning Myriam sharply turned on her heel, braid flowing behind her and marched back into the apartment, leaving Ezio and Connor in the doorway with bewildered, dumbfounded expressions.

It was Ezio who break the awkward silence first. "So... American women, they are feisty, no?"

"She certainly is." Connor answered darkly and sighed, before motioning the Italian inside as well.

-=-=-=-

In the time it took Connor to come in and settle down, Leonardo had examined every piece of artwork, potted plot and kitchen appliance and had taken a seat by the book shelf, eyes scanning, a look of surprise passing his features as he picked up a certain novel. The end was bent, the pages crinkled, perhaps slightly water logged on the edges.

"Bradbury, Ferenheit 451." Haytham kept a respectable difference, look apologetic as Leonardo jumped slightly. "A personal favorite."

"I see." It was said gently, an amused half grin over his features, the ink on a few pages smudged but legible. "Couldn't let it down?"

"That I could not... until I fell asleep in the bath. The splash woke me."

That too made Leonardo smile but just briefly, the book placed back. He could remark mentally how out of place it seemed, smaller then the rest, more prone to falling apart.

It stood there none the less. Leonardo sighed, audibly. "… I should see what he's up to, probably harassing that girl."

"Myriam? Oh, god I hope not." Haytham shook his head, adding loud enough for all to hear. "A certain Italian someone will be surely missing his testicles, women who come to my apartment can fire shot guns with astute accuracy." A fondness passed over him, his eyes radiating such. "I wonder if Ziio could've outshot her traditionally. Skilled, the both of them."

The light vacated his eyes as quickly as it appeared. A shiver traveled up Leonardo's spine at the familiar stare.

"I'm sorry..."

"Mm? For what... oh, oh lad no." A vague wave and the mask returned. "Nothing to be sorry for, it's not your fault." He didn't falter as he added, softly. "I'm better off now then months prior, believe me." Even if it hurt to think of her from time to time, he could say her name now, even think of her face and occasionally smile. It was a start.

"Haytham, I'm going to get going- did you still want to meet tomorrow for lunch?"

"Hm? Yes, yes. I've a... few things to discuss."

"About the company?" It was said with a soft grin, William tightening his jacket. "I assure you stocks have either risen or remained stable since I took your illustrious place."

"I've no doubt. We'll discuss it at length." With hesitation, Haytham asked, cautiously. "… Do you still need to do a charitable event this year?"

"Mm? Oh, uhm yes...?"

"Pick something gun related, mm?"

William faltered, frowning. "Gun related.?"

"Indeed. And invite _her."_

There was a moment of silence, William's eyes widening and mouth clicking shut. "No."

"Do it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Have you any idea how strange that would seem, the rumors that would start if I did _that?_ Myriam is so much younger than I am!"

"Why do you care so long as they're untrue?"

A frustrated sigh left his friend, William shaking his head and directing his attention at Leonardo. "It was, uhm, nice to meet you...?"

"Leonardo." He stood politely, the two shaking hands with a similar politeness. 

"My condolences for your loss. If there's anything we can do, let us know."

"Oh, Haytham's done enough." The grin and tone remained polite, even if Haytham didn't buy it. He smirked regardless at the passive aggression. 

"Tomorrow then, William?"

"Yes, around one." Bidding everyone farewell, William took leave, Haytham eager to order lunch. They'd a few minor details to discuss... and admittedly, he made arrangements on the flight and was near exhausted yet again.

-=-=-=-

They waited until William was gone, and Myriam took her leave shortly after as well, assuming they all wanted to catch up, jet lag and all. "Call me Connor, promise."

He could only not. He hated lying to her, but what other choice did he have? He couldn't tell her truth, what he had _done._

After the door closed with a soft click Connor sighed and turned, walking into the living room where Altair and Ezio were already locked into a heated conversation about what to have for lunch.

"Pizza."

"You had plenty of chance to eat pizza back in Italy, idiota. We could order Chinese?"

"That's not lunch."

"Pizza is not lunch either."

"In America it is. Breakfast, lunch, dinner and in-between snacks. I want pizza."

"How about Thai food?"

"Pizza."

"I'm craving McDonalds..." Two sets of amber eyes fell on Connor, and he frowned. No wait... yes he did crave McDonalds - oh he wanted a McFlurry like whoa! - but he didn't fancy another car trip. Sighing he flopped down onto the couch and onto his side. Why didn't McDonalds have some kind of delivery service?!

"Leonardo, what do you want?"

Leonardo, who still stood near Haytham's bookcase, observing all the volumes it held, shrugged, not bothering to turn. "I'll be perfectly satisfied with a simple sandwich, Ezio."

"Malik, you want pizza, right?" Altair cut in, looking at his friend who sat slumped down in a chair, chin resting on the palm of his hand. He looked like he was barely able to keep his eyes open, and in response he grumbled before turning to get more comfortable. "I don't _care,_ Altair. I'm not hungry, I'm tired."

At that, Connor sat up again. Now wait a second, now he remembered; a significant problem they all had to solve. "Uh, dad?" he asked and sat up straighter. "Um... where will they sleep?" His bedroom was already taken and of course Leonardo and Ezio could bunk on the couch or a camping bed set up in the living room, but that was only a very temporary solution.

-=-=-=-

"A good question to be addressed now as it were." Grabbing a few chairs and motioning for Leonardo to follow suit, Haytham seated himself in the living room, amongst the sofa and loveseat. "I'll make this quick... or as quick as I can." He noted Malik struggling to stay awake, eye cracking open just barely. At least he maintained their attention.

There was no fine nor eloquent way to state this so he wouldn't. "There is as you may have noticed little room in our apartment for so many." He said our. He blinked, but shook his head, sparing Connor a brief look. "And as I've noticed many of the dens are located in desolate areas several time zones out of the way. Being the temporarily retired CEO doesn't garner me entire privacy, and our comings and goings in continuum with the breaches will be noticed if we remain here." He couldn't run a company and stop what he'd learned. To abandon the idea was simply an impossibility.

If they heard the slight hitch in his breath they made no mention. Or perhaps they had but their own surprise muted the reaction to such. "As of this upcoming Sunday I am permanently resigning from my position as Kenway Corporation's head and turning it over to William Johnson."

His hand went up immediately, and he cleared his throat, speaking loudly. "Furthermore, we're going to need to relocate. Finding a house could take months, and an apartment in New York is a preposterous idea with six grown individuals, which leads me..." He had to pause, taking a deep breath. "… to consider the option of going home. My home, rather, to Queen Anne's Square where their would be more then enough room to house us and minimal media scrutiny with my retirement."

He addressed them all again, those his eyes landed on Connor at the end. "When I said I'd give my life for this, lads, I was- and am- serious." Steely grey lit once again, passionately. "I will stop at nothing to see every den and pit closed."

-=-=-=-

What? Go to... where? What home?

Ezio asked the question before he could; "That's in London, right Leonardo?"

"Si. However, I have read your biography, Haytham." Sitting down in a chair as well Leonardo crossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "If my memory is correct, no one has lived in that house for at least two decades."

"Sooooo?"

"It will be a dump, Altair." Leonardo answered with a smile. "If I'm right then there will be a lot of work involved to make it livable again."

Queen Anne's square... Connor really wasn't sure what to think of it. He felt the eyes on him though he didn't look up to meet them, and while he could understand the reasoning behind the decision, Connor couldn't say he liked it. Move to London? Leave all of this behind? He had lived in New York all his life, was born and raised here, and even though he was willing to travel the world to do what needed to be done, he did so in the knowledge that in the end they could go _home_ again.

But now Haytham wanted to move them all, not just to a new house, but to a new country, a new continent even! It did not sit well with him at all.

Again though... this clearly was one of the sacrifices that needed to be made.

"I've always wanted to go to London one day..." Leonardo mused, more to himself than anyone else. "Beautiful architecture." Oh he couldn't wait to make sketches, his fingers were positively aching in excitement!

"I like London." Malik added, barely able to stifle a yawn. "I heard that there are no entry fees for museums and the like. I like that."

"Ah yes, a trip to the London Museum of Natural History is in order!" Leonardo clapped his hands, smiling brightly, and Malik chuckled softly before getting up with a grunt. 

"Well, if that is all...?" he asked with a look at Haytham. "I really want to take a nap."

-=-=-=-

"Enjoy your nap then." It was always a pleasure speaking with the lad...

And finally a smile from Leonardo, complete with a 'I am super excited' expression. "If you'd like we can visit a confectionery along the way. They'll let you eat in certain exhibits."

"Seriously? Like, pizza?"

"Well, anything Altair, but yes that too."

"… To Lond- wait, we're going by plane right?"

Haytham blinked, frowning. "As opposed to cargo ship?" He scoffed. Altair stared. Grey eyes rolled as he sighed. "… Yes by plane."

"Then to London with us!"

And that left the 'tweedle twins' as Haytham mentally dubbed them in their few short but talkative hours together. "What say you, Ezio?"

"Are the women their as feisty?"

"No." Admittedly they were not, but he cut Ezio's conversation short. "They're not as pretty either."

Ezio chuckled, elbowing Connor. "Not a big deal from the neck down, eh?"

Oh _bother._ "Go to your room."

"The living room is my room for the time being."

"Then go to my room and don't touch anything. And Leonardo, please go with him, I've a private collection of Ayn Rand, Steinbeck, and Joyce in there."

"Oh! You wouldn't happen to have L'strange. I cannot recall the author, but the existentialism is done with such impressive, simple gestures."

"Nor I, but coincidentally I do, on the third shelf to the righ-no, no left of Oliver Twist."

Leonardo practically pulled Ezio away, Altair taking a hint and stepping on the balcony to order pizza. The doors shut with a soft click, Haytham's attention fully on Connor.

"You're unhappy." There was no question about it, Haytham frowning minutely. "… then you're on par with me."

He leaned back softly, frown at his lips. He didn't want to return to Queen Anne's Square. He'd see it burn before he did such, he hadn't been there since he was sixteen, to pick up the last of his belongings and head away to a Masters school. It brought nothing but unpleasant memories to think of such now.

"… It's a decision I did not make lightly, lad. Nor one I particularly enjoyed making. However, for Ziio, you... and the sibling you never knew, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make." His voice remained soft, but there was a warning with it. "Let's not make this anymore unpleasant than it needs to be."

-=-=-=-

The warning tone in his voice was unmistakable and it did not exactly make him feel better about this. Gritting his teeth Connor promptly turned his head, glaring at the far wall, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes, it's a sacrifice _you're_ willing to make." he growled, and pressed himself further into the cushions.

"I grew up here. I was born here, and raised here. New York is all I know, and suddenly you decide we're moving to London of all places? I see the logic behind it, but it's clear you already made the decision before you even brought it up just now!"

He was making this worse, he knew it, but he really did not appreciate Haytham making decisions for them, despite him being the leader of their group. They were all adults. "Don't I get to have a say in this?" he asked and abruptly stood up to begin pacing, adding strength to his words with wild gestures and hand shakes. "The others seem fine with it but I don't! We already deal with enough life changing shit that we can't control. And I _know_ that you're making a huge sacrifice here as well, with the company and everything, and I _know_ that it's hard for you as well, I do, but you don't get to make decisions for me without discussing it with me first."

It was a struggle not to raise his voice, to not start screaming, or storm off because there was no where he could go. Altair was on the balcony, Malik was sleeping in his old bedroom, and the master bedroom was occupied as well.

"I don't want to leave..." he finally whispered and stopped pacing, arms dropping at his side. This was his home, but it had never felt so important before, had never held... such meaning. This place was familiar, a small bit of stability in his wild life that he clung to. "I feel like... everything is spinning out of control, everything is changing way too fast and... When we were at the temple, after I... finished with Cutter..." It was still a blur when he thought about it, and there had been so much blood... he could still almost smell it, feel it drying on his hands and sticking to his skin. "One of the things that allowed me to pull through and find you guys again, was knowing that we could go home when I did. Go home, here. I don't want to leave. And I don't-"

His mouth closed with a clack, and Connor dropped his gaze, hands turning into fists at his side. They hadn't visited her in a while... they really should. Apologize to her grave for all the things he had done, because she would never have wanted her son and the man she loved to do these kind of things. "I don't want to leave mom behind... I thought we'd be done after Bali. I thought that, finally, we'd be able to pick up our lives again." Of course it was foolish of him to think that things would ever go back to the way they were, before Brazil and before Lee, but at least this here, this apartment, still held enough memories, happy memories of their old life to cling to, to not completely loose what had been.

It was important to him, and in the end Connor also knew that it wouldn't make a difference. They couldn't stay here, and that fact hurt.

-=-=-=-

Silence was the sole aspect he would offer. Even after Connor finished he remained silent, staring at his hands, torn between smacking him upside the head and taking one of his own.

"I'm at a loss." Haytham pressed the bridge of his nose, sighing. "I should have consulted you, yes. I'll give you that, to an extent." A certain extent, one which Haytham was about to be made known.

"I'm still your father, and now the leader of whatever you'd like to call our group. The bottom line is, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, regardless of whom the few may be, and believe me I know how callous that sounds and what an _asshole_ you think I am, but I've to be fair to everyone involved, lad." He made no move tot ouch him in either way, but rather leaning closer, watching him as he continued with some trepidation.

"Altair, Malik, Ezio, Leonardo- they've all lost someone, lad. Granted they did not witness what you did in the pits but they lost someone, Ezio his entire family, and have all agreed to move from the little families they have left to do this in entirety. Do you think it easy for any of them?"

Haytham averted his eyes for a moment, looking about his apartment. "… To be honest...I hate living in this apartment."

His voice picked up, hitching, words coming out quicker then they should have. "I was to move anyway... I'd a place picked out in Westchester, only ten minutes away from New Rochelle- new pool, multiple bedrooms, sub-urban living and country side yet within a short distance to the office and your school-" Enough room for all of them. Even when Connor and he were not better acquainted, he wasn't going to leave his son homeless. Ziio loved her life, uprooting them would have been cruel.

In a way, so was uprooting Connor now.

And he knew that, truly. But...

This was a reminder of what he lost. The vacant halls a reminder of what he'd almost lost in Brazil. He'd only stayed because Connor seemed to like it... and moving anywhere near New Rochelle was too painful.

Even now, the thought of seeing Ziio's grave... it was a bit much. He said his goodbyes.

It wasn't until a splotch of wetness hit his hand that he wiped his face, quickly.

"… I'm not thrilled to move back into Queen Anne's Square, either. My most recent memory of the place is far from fond... but it's a part of the sacrifices. And we can move back, lad. When all his said and done." He finally forced himself to look upward again, throat still tight. "It's not a permanent move, I assure you that. And I do apologize for the lack of..." He gestured, grandly, "… control I'm showing at the moment. Simply..." An exhale and he sighed again, lips pressed into a line. "There's a lot on my mind, and a lot I'm not looking forward to parting with myself. But it's... for a just cause, so..."

Glassy eyed, he offered Connor a shrug. He'd embarrassed himself enough tonight.

-=-=-=-

Connor's eyes flicked up to Haytham's face, noting the sullen look he held, before he turned away again and shoved his hands in his pockets. Nothing he could say would make Haytham change his mind on the matter and honestly he felt like his father was making him sound like a whiny selfish kid. He couldn't make himself to say something against it though, not after seeing the look on his father's face, the tone of his voice. 

It wasn't like he didn't understand that this was hard for everyone. Malik, Altair, Ezio and Leonardo had already left their homes behind for this cause... it was to be expected that some day he would have to do the same, and no amount of complaining would change that.

They'd just have to adapt... again.

"Well... I guess I won't bother unpacking then..."

~*~

Preparations were made over the next few days; Haytham had called for another press conference, in which he officially signed the company over to William. Informing William of the reason why had been difficult; it was impossible to tell him the real reason of course, it wouldn't be fair to him to get him involved, so they had told him they simply needed to be _away._ Away from New York, away from the place that held bad memories and go someplace where they had the time and space to recover. Get better.   
William understood that of course, and while he was sad to see them go, he wished them the very best and made them promise to keep in regular touch.

It had been even harder to tell Shaun and Myriam. Connor had asked to meet them at the Red Mango; Myriam had burst into tears when he told them. Shaun's expression tightened around the edges, teeth grit, lips pressed thin... but he understood. They both did. They too made him promise to keep in touch, to log into Skype often enough, to call even when he could.

Connor wasn't sure if he'd be able too, with what lay ahead in the future, but he promised nonetheless.

How close to the truth that promise was, he couldn't tell, and he hated it. Hated the lying he had to do lately.

But it was for the best, to keep their friends and loved ones out of harm's way.

So much had to be arranged before they could leave. Connor found his father on the phone constantly, taking care of things, tying up loose ends and making preparations for their arrival in London. He'd keep the apartment, to have something to go back to for whenever they'd return to New York.

Malik made sure that Socks and Paws had gotten their vaccinations for the trip; they'd be flown over as well and would need to be kept in quarantine for a while but that was something he was willing to deal with; he wouldn't leave his beloved cats behind. 

Everyone was on edge with the big move looming over them, and Connor tried to not let his own discomfort about the idea be known too clearly. He kept reminding himself that this was much harder for the others; for Malik and Altair, who had already left their home behind once; for his father, who had to return to the one place he didn't want to return to; for Leonardo who had left his life's work behind in Rome and for Ezio who had left the last two remaining members of his family.

Connor had caught him talking to his sister over Skype one evening, hidden away in Haytham's study with his laptop. Ezio hadn't spotted him and Connor had only caught bits and pieces of the conversation, and while it was all in Italian he could tell from the tone in Ezio's voice that it was a difficult talk.

On the last evening in New York William had arranged for a huge diner; one last gathering for all of them, one last evening together for what wouldn't be forever (Connor hoped) but a long time nonetheless.

He, his father, Altair and Malik, Leonardo and Ezio, William of course, Shaun and Myriam, and Hickey, Church and Pitcairn, all present to enjoy the feast. 

Connor had truly enjoyed it. They had all laughed at Hickey's horrible perverted jokes no one was safe for, and Ezio proved that while he had quite a tolerance for alcohol, it made him extremely flirtatious – more so than usual anyway. Altair had shared some _very_ interesting stories about his youth that even had Malik snort in his drink once or twice, and Shaun spent most of the evening talking to Leonardo, nerding about history and everything else that fascinated him. To no one's surprise Leonardo nerded back just as hard.

Good memories. Memories he'd hold onto, even now as he stared out of the small square window, watching the sun catch on the waves in the Atlantic, on their way to London. His father sat next to him, Malik on his other side, and Altair sat two rows behind them with Leonardo and Ezio.

He wasn't really sure how much time had passed already; he couldn't be bothered to look but surely they'd be there soon? He was getting real sick of air planes and jet lag. Gritting his teeth Connor pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes, hoodie tugged down as far as it would go.

They would have to make the best of this. Adapt. Like they always did.

-=-=-=-

Eyes straight ahead? Check. Clothing immaculately pressed? Check. Hair tied back neatly, shoes polished, watch on his left hand, pens tucked into his right pocket? Yes. Chin held high? As always. And it would remain so.

He'd recalled once, even now he watched the clouds come back into view, someone told him 'it doesn't matter how you feel, simply how you look.' He looked fantastic then, and he knew such. It was part of who he was now, ingrained in him. A look toward his son and Haytham exhaled, jaw clenched.

As if he too did not wish to hind behind fabric and avert his eyes. The last few wakes had relied on his organization, Haytham paying the price in hours of sleep amongst other things. Said other thing sat by him now and watched the ocean come closer into view.

His mood had... lacked as of late. Keeping such a stoic face was running him ragged, as was Connor's mood swings. That was not to say he didn't understand the boy's feelings. Simply that Connor seemed to forget he'd feelings of his own, one he'd not share when he acted in such away.

And bottling everything- while custom- grew tiresome. And yet the tight upper lip remained, stiffening further as the bumpy landing beckoned them. He could almost smell the harbor, the gulls with its fish, a different color blue then the harbors of New York, with a less marine smell. Fresher water perhaps.

He hated it.

By the time the landing had been fully made his jaw was clenched so tight a muscle bulged. Walking through the outskirts of the airprort, not a substantial amount had changed since last he left; it was renovated, new colors and signs but the walls and pathways remained the same, Haytham barely needing to read the signs before maneuvering about. Rental car, cleaning supplies... 'home.' If they noticed the sneer passing over his features they said nothing, Haytham's stride so quick Leonardo had to struggle to keep up. It was one of the few times he wanted not a soul to converse with. Not when the one that mattered was causing him further irritation.

"Haytham."

"Mm?"

Ignoring the gruff grunt, Malik kept the pace, attempting to meet grey eyes. It would be impossible to not notice how tense he'd been at the start of the trip. He seemed to be fairing worse. "Waiting with the luggage would save you time. You can pick a car faster."

"Mm."

His stride picked up further, Malik halting and taking that as answer enough. "… Right then."

It didn't take more then ten minutes, Haytham's stone face coming into view, a pair of keys in hand to a mini van, with more than enough room for all. Altair held his hand out, waiting for the key, only to be ignored in entirety as Haytham sat in the driver's side. The slam of the door was loud enough to make Altair and Malik look between one another, before Altair muttered, "… I'd fight you for shot gun, but..."

"Yeah." Haytham had briefly divulged a tidbit during the flight, namely what had occurred here almost thirty years prior. It didn't excuse his behavior exactly, though- at least as far as Malik was concerned- it was a reason. That and he hadn't been intolerable, just gruff, short.

"Ezio, get Haytham's bags."

"On it, Malik."

While the door was still shut, Haytham gave the group a small look, waiting until the luggage was set in the trunk. "Behave." His eyes were not unkind as they drifted to Connor. "Seriously."

He waited until he received affirmation, Malik only then sitting beside Haytham. "At your ready."

"Mm." Fighting a snarl he started the car, pulling out into the congested traffic and fighting back a snarl. Fucking London.

-=-=-=-

Connor bit back a wince when the plane finally touched down on Heathrow Airport and slowly came to a halt. One by one the passengers filed out into the terminal, eagerly chatting amongst themselves but he, like most in his group, did not share their excitement (except for Leonardo, but he got excited about everything). 

After checking out and collecting their luggage Connor got his first whiff of London air and he looked around. The weather was overcast, heavy clouds blocking out the sun. So very different from Italy... from home even. It was bleak. Grey. Was it true what Shaun said about his homeland? That it rained like ninety percent of the time? Ugh...

He kept quiet as he padded after his father, having long noted his short, snappy mood; best to stay in the back and not aggravate the man even more. Keep his distance.

He helped Ezio stuff their luggage into the back of the van Haytham had rented and met the Italian's eyes. Ezio shrugged and offered a sympathetic clap on his shoulder before closing the back doors of the van and walked around to take a seat as well. Connor sighed and with one last look at the busy airport behind him, climbed in ever him, wishing he could hop back on a plane to take him home.

~*~

Barely two minutes later out on the road found both Connor and Ezio clamping at each other, eyes wide as they dared to look out of the window at the cars flashing by. Of course he had _known_ that in Great Britain people drove on the other side of the road (the _wrong_ side, his mind screamed) but it hadn't really bothered him until now!

Next to him Ezio kept muttering that they were going to die, and Connor found himself agreeing, though he kept that to himself. What if Haytham made a mistake somewhere? What if he, in his own obvious frustration and anger at being back in London caused him to loose focus and make a wrong turn or something? What if they... they crashed into one of _those?_ Brown eyes followed the large red, double floored bus as it barreled past them and he made a mental note to never ever _ever_ set foot in one of those things!

Altair was smirking at them both, clearly amused at their discomfort, and Leonardo offered them sympathetic glances. By the time Haytham finally pulled to a stop, forty-five minutes after leaving Heathrow, Connor was convinced that British people were _fucking insane!_ Why couldn't they drive on the right side of the road like normal people?!

“Never again!” he wheezed as he stumbled out of the van.

Leonardo jumped out after him with a hearty chuckle and began pulling bags out of the van, handed to him by Altair. Ezio still sat slumped in his seat. “It wasn't that bad, Connor. You'll get used to it, I'm sure.”

“Doubtful.” Connor muttered darkly and took a deep breath before looking up to take a peek at where they would be living from now on.

-=-=-=-

By the time they'd reached the 'house' Haytham had been well on his way to grinding his teeth for the better part of fifteen minutes. Malik merely observed, cautious as he looked upward, beyond the rusted fence-

He took a double check. Hell, he was sure they _all_ did.

Haytham exited as if it were nothing spectacular when in front of them lay a mansion, no, no not even that; it was practically a _manor._ Granted the houses around them seemed equally imposing, standing tall and neat, where as this was down trodden. A neighbor perhaps had taken it among themselves for the sake of the neighborhood to trim the outside hedges and grass, but beyond the locked fence, held with a rusted lock and chain, there was little one could do.  
[21:39:54] girlsloveyaoi: The remnants of flowers, an overgrown garden full of weeds, overgrown hedges, withering agriculture. It was a botanist's nightmare, the house standing in good condition if not for the clear lack of upkeep.

A window or two remain broken, boarded, and as Haytham opened the rusted chain and let it fall, the gate budged with a rigid squeak, scraping across grass which haphazardly grew over what was once a lovely cobblestone path.

Trepidation laced every step, and yet he continued onward. It took a bit of jiggling, but the large, heavy front door gave way with some pressure, Haytham not bothering to halt but rather tracking the remnants of garden dirt throughout. They needed to clean anyway.

A layer of dust inches thick, and Haytham was surprised one light bulb still functioned, flickering but remaining, illuminating enough of the parlor before entering the first entertainment area. Wood floors creaked under the stress of steps, the house opening from its bottleneck to reveal open spaces, and older furniture covered with thick, greying linen sheets. The squeak of what may have been a rat was heard, the overhead chandelier even glistening under the barest of light. The downstairs continued into the kitchen and formal family room, one that- as he recalled- he could not play in as a child. 

Instead he choose the back most room upstairs, between his father's old study and the attic entryway. Engrossed in thought, he barely heard the whistle, Altair turning around in awe. Tiffany lamps, Swarovski chandeliers- it wasn't a lot of decoration, a few pieces of furniture covered and laying over what was an expensive looking Persian rug- but what was there was clearly expensive.

"Jesus..." Altair turned again, looking past the grand staircase with its spiral to the back rooms. "How many bedrooms are there?"

"Eight, if I read correctly." 

Leonardo's excitement was almost uncontrollable, the man practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "It's so vast-"

"Mm. More to clean."

It was said in utter distaste, Haytham's frown wide before he turned on heel and walked put the door. It was Altair who asked it, puzzled. "Hey? Where ya goin'?"

"Cleaning supplies."

"Well you want some com-"

An eye twitched, grey focusing on the man standing there. "What do you think?"

"..." Hesitating, amber eyes narrowed... before following the man, Haytham turning again before Altair shrugged. "Looks like you need company."

"...Mm." He didn't fight it, rather allowing the man to tag along if only to be able to leave. "So help me if you try and start a conversation- Malik, I'll be back."

"Mhm." The door slammed yet again, not before Altair cast the group a look and shrug- a pissed off Haytham running around London? It could get interesting. And he had a camera!

-=-=-=-

It was... huge.

That was the only word Connor had for it as he followed Haytham through the rusty gates, staring up at the manor's grand double doors. It looked... kinda foreboding, but that was probably because it was in such a bad shape. Damn, they had a lot of work to do here...

Inside it didn't look much better. Grand, huge, spacious and luxurious... but absolutely _filthy._ Dust and dirt accumulated over decades crunched under his boots as he stepped inside, turning his head left and right to take in his surroundings.

“Dio mio...” Leonardo followed after him, blue eyes twinkling in the shadow of his red beret. Connor didn't have to look at his face to know that Leonardo's expression had to be one of excitement – again. There wasn't anything that could dampen this guy's spirits.

They set down the luggage in a corner and Connor looked up, staring at the large chandelier hanging from the ceiling, cobwebs thick with dust hanging from it's frame. The whole air was thick with it and Connor covered his nose and mouth with his hand, grateful that Malik had left the front doors open to allow some fresh air in.

He eyed the grand spiral staircase leading up and resisted the urge, going through an open doorway instead, into what he assumed was the dining room, if the large table covered in sheets was any indication. Lifting a piece he saw the decorations carved into the oak wood, the velvet on the chair's seats, bleakened with age, just like the old fashioned wallpaper all around him. There was a huge fire place opposite of the doorway, with a marble mantlepiece, and various paintings hang on the walls. At least he assumed they were paintings, they too were covered with linen.

Back in the parlor he heard a door slam and Connor dropped the sheet that covered the table to quickly make his way back to the others. Haytham was gone, and so was Altair, and Leonardo answered his questioning look. “They went to get some cleaning supplies.”

“What? Already? Shouldn't we unpack first?”

“Haytham looked eager to get out.” Malik muttered as he observed the carved out decorations in the wooden rails of the staircase. “Altair went with him to keep him company – and to keep an eye on him.”

He did? Frowning Connor dropped his gaze, staring at a few rat droppings near the wall without really seeing them. Already his father had wanted to get out of this place, within minutes of arriving. Did he really hate this place that much? 

“Dude, did you guys see the kitchen? It's huge!”

He ignored Ezio's shout and raised his head to look at the front door. Why hadn't Haytham said anything about wanting to get out and use the time to get supplies? Why hadn't he or Altair called him? He would have come along!

Leonardo and Malik had already left to check out the kitchen; one of them called out of him to come look as well but Connor ignored it. It was just the kitchen, it wasn't of interest to him and he probably wouldn't spent a lot of time in there anyway.

Hopefully Haytham's mood would improve soon. It was understandable, sure, and Connor knew he wasn't exactly great company either, but... he _hoped_ that this place would eventually loose its grip on his father. He'd settle too, right? In time? They all would.

Sighing he cast one last glance at the front door and turned to face the staircase; each step creaked ominously under his feet as he slowly made his way up, half afraid that it would cave in on him; there would be no sneaking around in this house with how everything creaked and groaned.

Reaching the top he looked left then right, clicked his tongue and made his way to the nearest door, dust rising from the carpet whenever his feet came down. He wondered was in here...

-=-=-=-

He was glad no one else came, particularly Connor or Ezio. Resisting the urge to grab the dash was almost impossible with the way the man floored the damn car.

Luckily the second store Haytham could recall- while no longer standing- was replaced with a super market of sorts, allowing them to stock up within moments, even if it was far too over priced and ritzy. Really, a fountain by a walkway? It was a super market, not a shopping mall...

"Shit!" The car came to a screeching halt as a man decided to cross the intersection at what was a blaringly green light for them. Windows down, Altair could see Haytham visibly send the man a glare before muttering, perhaps loud enough for him to hear, "Blithering idiot."

"Oye, shove it soccer mum." Perking up, amber eyes darted between Haytham's face and the freckled, weather beaten one of the man in front of them, another car pulling up behind them. "Maybe if you wasn't driving like a mad man you'd 'ave seen me."

"Driving like a mad man?" Reaching for his camera, Altair set it on record, holding it steadily as the button blipped red, recording. "My immaculate driving hasn't a thing to do with your illiteracy, twit."

"Oh go get sod off culley! Look a' you, grandpa in his minivan, takin' out the grankid, like I'm afraid a you-"

"Oh you're not are you, you sodding, blithering limey tart?" Hell if he knew what Haytham was even saying right now, but the flush on his teeth and unbuckling of his seatbelt were enough to state the obvious. "How about I feed you your teeth, you sodding wanker of a shit-"

"Piss off, like I'm afraid of you-"

The first of what was a few horns honking followed, but it was too late, Haytham exiting the vehicle, Altair following- but not before placing the camera on the dash, sure to capture the rest of the action.

Funny. A look of Haytham from outside the mini-van and the man who had rolled up his sleeves seemed much less likely to strike. Shoes covered in soot, the undershirt Haytham wore clung to biceps that were far superior, boots making the man a solid five centimeters taller than he normally would, which was already fairly tall.

Perhaps the most foreboding feature were those steel grey eyes and bared teeth. For a moment Altair halted, shaking his head as an image of Connor came to mind, posture similar, down to the wolf like clenching of teeth and the flaring of nostrils.

"Haytham, Haytham, c'mon." Altair touched him, only to receive one hell of a snarl and a very deep... it could have been a growl for all he knew, whatever he said was muffled by honking horns and the deep voice it was spoken from.

"Haytham, ya can't tell Connor to not beat the shit out of someone then do it yourself. In broad daylight no less." Reaching into his pocket, Altair fished a cigarette and lit up, ignoring the angry cursing of people merging lanes and passing by them. "The guy is scared shitless, I think you made him piss himself."

Grey eyes narrowed, although he did stop advancing, the menacing look remained. "… Haytham, c'mon. Whatever's got you riled up, he didn't do it." Amber eyes looked at the man, smirking. "He's an idiot, but he didn't do it."

"I-I don't have to take that from you kid."

"Eh, ya kinda do, or my big guy's gonna kick your ass for me. Not that I couldn't, but... well look at 'im." Haytham hadn't moved, anger radiating from him in thick waves. "… You should probably fuck off while I've calmed him down."

With a last glare, the man did just that, turning on heel and jogging away, faster than necessary to Altair's amusement. A little less amusing was a very pissed of Haytham, looking at him.

"...What?"

"Your 'big guy'?"

Shrugging, Altair. Opened the passengers side door, only to frown as something hit him the arm. It took a moment and the jingle of keys picked up from the floor to get his attention, Haytham close enough to him to hit him.

Instead he fished a cigarette from his pocket and took the lighter, handing Altair the keys and exhaling long, hard, and leaving the younger man stunned as he took a seat in the passengers side.

Okkkkkay? He was inhaling the way a smoker would but... ah, screw it, he'd ask later. With a click of the car and a flick of the camera, they made their way back, Haytham smoking two temporary 'friends' to the filter before they pulled in again, Altair watching the door slam before his lighter was placed on the hood of the car, Haytham storming inside with a few packages.

… Right. Well...at least he hadn't killed anyone.

Making his way inside, Haytham was already halfway up the stair case, clack of his boots filling the silent mansion. He'd taken a bottle of bleach and gloves with him, the sound of another door slamming from far away reaching them.

"He okay?"

"… He chain smoked my cigarettes and halted rush hour traffic to almost knock a guy unconscious."

Ezio blinked, looking upstairs with a frown. "So... not okay?"

"No, definitely not okay." Damn, he knew the man's father had died here but wasn't this a bit much?

In the meantime, Haytham had already taken to stripping wall paper in the Master bedroom. And if he had his way, he'd be left to do so for hours.

-=-=-=-

The rooms here was pretty much like what they had found downstairs; barren and dirty, dust on every surface, and linen sheets covered the bed frames and the various pieces of furniture. Some of the rooms held boxes which, upon opening, held things like old books, VCR tapes and bits and pieces of other personal belongings, including an old make-up box, a damaged barbie doll, a wooden sword and a bag with lots of toy cars and toy soldiers inside.

Huh, perhaps these used to belong to Haytham when he was young? Who did the barbie doll belong to though? Surely he hadn't played with that!  
Connor snickered, trying to imagine a five-year old Haytham (whom he strangely couldn't picture without his pepper grey hair) dressing up a barbie doll. 

“Weird.” he muttered and opened another box, coughing when cloud of dust swooshed up into his face. Holding his breath he waved the cloud away with his hand and looked inside, seeing lots of leather bound photo albums. Now _this_ was interesting! On top of the albums lay a photo frame, antique looking with glass so dirty he could barely see the photo itself. Carefully picking it up he rubbed his sleeve over the glass and squinted his eyes at the figures that appeared underneath. It looked to be a family photo; he saw a man with blond hair, not unlike Leonardo wore his and next to him stood a woman with a pretty face and an equally pretty smile. She had her hands on the shoulders of a teenage girl standing in front of her, young but already beautiful though her expression was far from happy. Sour even. Connor's attention though was drawn to the fourth and last person on the photo; a young boy, no older than five or six, and even here his identity was unmistakable.

That was, without a doubt, his father.

“Dude...” Holding the photo closer Connor squinted his eyes at the little, leeeeetle Haytham and grinned. Daw he was adorable! And those other people? He looked at the blonde man. Was that Haytham's father? His grandfather? And that, his grandmother? And the girl... she had to be Haytham's sister then, his aunt. He had never mentioned a sister but it was the only thing that made sense.

Sitting up straight he held the frame at arms length and nodded to himself. “Good looks run in the family I guess.” he chuckled and reached into the box to grab one of the photo albums, curious for more, when he heard the angry footsteps of someone stomping his way up the stairs. They moved past the room he was in and seconds later he heard a door slam nearby.

Huh... dad was home. Removing his hand from the box Connor stood up and silently made his way out of the room, still holding onto the photo frame. Opening the door to the next room he peeked inside to see Haytham with his back to him, donning a pair of gloves. A bottle of bleach stood at his feet, and his whole posture screamed anger and frustration.

Frowning Connor cleared his throat, “Dad?” and stepped inside the large master bedroom. “You okay?” He was almost afraid to move closer; an angry Haytham was a dangerous Haytham for everyone... but he was still his father. Edging his way around the grand master bed Connor stopped behind his father, not quite able to mask the worry on his face. “Dad, what is-” Wait a second.

He sniffed.

There... he knew that scent. Though he usually connected this particular smell to Altair. “... did you smoke?”

-=-=-=-

There were better tools to do this with. He purchased such and he knew it it well. Yet gloved fingers pulled greying bits of outdated wall paper off with a vengeance. He couldn't recall what he set his phone to, Pandora playing whatever it so desired as he set to the task at hand.

Bleach stung his eyes; he'd poured a share directly onto the ground before he started this, waiting for such to waft over the old wooden floors. Every movement and action could not seem to fully register with him, and despite his own obvious opposition, he wished for another cigarette, if only to occupy him further. It hadn't even helped, it was simply something to do... a repugnant habit he'd kicked so long ago...

He made no move to slow, eyes set to the task before him. Cleaned and back in pristine position, this place would return to a state of grandiose being to the others. He could but glance at the greying wall paper, tearing furiously.

It was a tomb.

They were living in a _tomb._ He could visualize without looking, the outline of a figure by the den, not entirely far from here. The betrayal of all betrayals, the spiraling moment in his life.

Vigor returned, brows furrowed as he tore furiously at what time had not destroyed in the absence of human presence. For the greater good, that's what this was for. It hardly meant he need like it.

"Dad? You okay?"

Oh he was _peachy._ He neglected to respond, simply tearing at the paper, until Connor approached further, and Haytham grit his teeth.

"… did you smoke?"

"No. You're smelling the stagnate air that is London." He turned simply to grab the bottle of bleach, as if that could ever cleanse the place of anything it ought, and he though to grumble of such, turning to Connor to - well, he wasn't sure why he was turning toward him- but he wound up staring into eyes that for a change looked concerned.

… And though he loved his son dearly, the lad was thick. Shoulders remained tense though he let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "… I think it best you leave me be, Connor." Not often did his temper best him but today it was, whether it being the jet lag or the last few weeks or just being _here._

Fixing to turn, Haytham could but halt at what was the smallest glint catching his eyes, and before Connor could say otherwise, fingers were touching the end of the frame, pulling it away, not rough but rather shaky.

… He was shorter then he'd remembered. Just as blonde, though, and almost otherworldly. In his youth he often thought the man comparable to Thor, the Norse god of thunder, after such stories were read to him. He looked the part, played it well... he was simply better. Tangible, real. A captain and professional as well as a father.

His hero.

And it _hurt._ Thirty years, no wait, more... and it still hurt.

"… Where'd you find this?" If Connor heard the croak his voice had become, he hoped he'd ignore it, thumb tracing the old frame.

-=-=-=-

Leave him? Connor frowned, blinking slowly. Eh... no. Nu-uh. Nope.

Before he could say anything though, go against it, give reasons why he should _stay,_ fingers pulled the photo frame out of his hands. He stayed silent, watching his father's expression change as he looked at the people in the photo. He didn't dare to ask anything, even if he was brimming with questions... one wrong word, one wrong move again, and his father would snap and probably take it out on him.

It was why the surprise of the question caught him off guard. Licking his lips he raised his hand and jabbed his thumb over the shoulder at the door. “In the next room... it has about half a dozen boxes filled with old stuff, including books and photo albums. This,” he looked at the framed picture. “was in one of them.”

It was impossible not to note how his father's voice cracked. It was almost painful to listen to. “Is... that is you, right?” he pointed at the smallest figure.

-=-=-=-

The next room... ah. He just barely fought the urge to roll his eyes, eying the picture then his son. "No, it must be the other lad who looked like me who also lived here at the same time I did." It was a lot less sarcastic sounding then he intended. "I'd flick you on the nose but I've bleach everywhere."

He... knew that room well. In truth he wished to avoid it. Yet if this was to be their room now- and it was- there was little avoiding it. Gloves fell to the floor with a moist splat, Haytham forcing his chin high as he walked passed his son toward what he knew to be the den. And before that the small, narrow corridor.

Boots clacked along the hardwood, until he came to a halt, the hollow echo of one such area beckoning his curiosity. Had she ever found it? The smallest hole could be seen if one looked carefully, but his fingers were simply too large now to fit through. Fishing through his pocket, he silently thanked himself for being so damned orderly even when frightfully overcome with emotion- the pen clicked and was small enough to fit through the hole- and at the right angle-

The audible squeak of a mouse hardly bothered him, dusty wood coming up with a small thud. The corners of his mouth twitched, a small bag between the hard wood. Sitting amongst the dust and debris, Haytham pulled the small pouch upright, removing the few props he had collected as a child, foreign coins from his father's endeavors over seas and- most importantly- the small ship, modeled after the Santa Maria. It fit between the palm of his hand comfortably, two absolutely tiny figures aboard it.

He couldn't remember smiling the past few weeks. It felt foreign, strange. Not that he'd done such often, simply he hadn't once as of late.

"He was captain, your grandfather." A few marbles strayed from the pouch, and he let them, fixated on the small ship in his hands. "Edward... the almost drunkard half Welshman with the vocabulary of a damned sailor if I recall correctly." A free hand pat the seat beside him, Haytham procuring what was a small box from the tiny hole, having to tilt it sometimes to see it through.

And in them, his tin pirates. Blackbeard, Davy Jones, and, his favorite. A blonde bearing three scars, small ones that the photo may have been unable to capture, but he remembered them; intersecting his eyebrow and eye, another from cheek to ear, another across the bridge of his nose. Tiny, well healed, except the one on his cheek which had remained wider - but that was him, in his gun toting glory.

Funny he idolized someone so very different from himself.

"… Modeled after his likeness, by my mother's request." Carefully, he pressed the small figure into Connor's hands, it standing no taller than six or seven centimeters. "I'd a fascination with pirates because of him... always wanted to fight Blackbeard, as it were." The adventures they'd go on, and not solely in his own mind; why if he recalled there were hours of footage of them together.

"He was a flawed man, often obsessive with money. He drank a bit, tended to become involved in more then a few bar brawls if you will. But, he was a good father. Truly." Pushing through the thickness in his throat, the unsaid was left hanging. He missed him. Horribly.

His childhood had been buried with him, a part of his life he would never experience again. With the slightest of sighs, Haytham set his eyes on the den... curious. Anxious, but curious.

"… Had you... seen any video tapes in there?"

-=-=-=-

Connor blinked owlishly and quickly followed after his father and confused but curious frown on his face. He watched from a small distance as Haytham pulled something small out of... the wall? Er... maybe it shouldn't have been surprising. A large old house like this was bound to have some secrets and hidden places, and this was clearly one of them.

Connor couldn't hide his curiosity as he stepped closer and peeked over his father's shoulder to look at what he was holding; a small toy ship, a few coins and a small box. He hadn't expected to see tin figurines when it opened.

“A captain?” Really? He sat down next to Haytham and looked at the little figurine that was pushed into his hands. It looked like a pirate, though surely he wasn't a real pirate. But wow... even so, to learn that his grand father had been a _captain_ of a ship! How awesome was that! 

He couldn't help but feel his lips twitch up at the story that followed. “You know what this reminds me of?” he asked and raised the little tin figurine of his pirate grand father. “Of the wooden soldier I gave you. I went on great adventures with it, just like you did with this one.” It was an amusing coincidence. It was a real shame he'd never gotten the chance to meet his grandfather, or any of the others for that matter.  
He'd never been interested in pirates himself, but... it was an interesting subject nonetheless.

“Yeah, I saw a few tapes...” Ooooh, he could actually see footage of little kiddy Haytham and his captain father? Heh, fun!  
“Why don't we... save the cleaning for tomorrow, and we go collect tapes instead?” He rather liked this, learning more about the side of the family he had never known. He looked at the figurine again and swallowed thickly before offering it back to him. “Unless... it brings back painful memories you'd rather not deal with. I'd understand that. Up to you. I'd... like to learn more though.”

-=-=-=-

A crossroads, that's what it was. To dwell for longer and continue or perhaps to spend a night in a hotel and maybe… what? Recall what he'd... missed? Wanted? He'd never been apt at this sort of thing.

And yet Connor was giving him a means to escape, to go back into the master bedroom and linger there. And if he was honest, it was all too tempting to shove everything away and repeat his actions. Yet the gentle push of a hand, offering what was once his...

Grey eyes locked with brown, and he simply couldn't vocalize it. Instead he looked, just to be safe- he hadn't heard anyone but it never hurt- and when the coast was clear in-finality he leaned forward.

Amongst the grime and filth, pants caked in dust, one hand closed over a slightly larger one, the other carding through dark hair as lips met. Far too brief, the fleeting press was all he could offer, though he kept their foreheads pressed together, pushing the hand that held the tin pirate closer to its new owner. "You deserve it, lad." His now free hand stroked a high cheekbone, and he winced at his own slow exhale, parting reluctantly.

"Videos it is... perhaps the VCR in all it's archaic glory is still around and in working order." But first, listerine. Which was buried in his suitcase, and needed. Turning on heel, Haytham met brown eyes once more before adding. "You may... tell the others if you wish. They're probably not entirely keen on hearing from me." And he could hardly blame them... though he'd ask Malik regardless, he seemed impossible to anger.

And briefly, before his descent he added, softly. "… You needn't be so civil after the way I've acted, but thank you for acting so."

-=-=-=-

Connor hadn't expected the kiss, but as soon as he saw Haytham lean forward he was already tilting his head to meet him. It had been too long, way too long. When it had just been Altair and Malik, they had still been able to steal quick kisses and touches when they weren't in the same room, but ever since Ezio and Leonardo had joined their group, intimacy had been far and few inbetween. He missed it... god, he missed it so much. They always had to be on their guard, always be wary and afraid that one of the others might walk in or them, or even see them hold hands. At times he was tempted to simply say 'fuck this' and tell them, just so they wouldn't have to hide... but who knew how they'd react? 

They needed them.

Connor swallowed thickly and closed his eyes as the kiss broke, though they remained close, and his fingers curled around the little doll. He nodded slowly, tightening his grip around it and carefully hid it away in his pocket as he pulled away.

“You're welcome... living room then?” He'd seen a TV there, one of those old big ones. The quality would be so crappy, especially because he was used to blu-ray, but... oh, this might totally worth it. “I'll get the others. You get the tapes.”

~*~

It had been easy to convince the others to stop what they were doing and follow him into the living room. He had found them all seated in the living room, bent over a menu Altair had gotten from a Chinese restaurant near by. There was no way that they'd be cooking here until the kitchen had been completely scrubbed clean and disinfected so until then, they'd have to make do with take-out. Perfect time too... Chinese take-out, combined with lounging on the couch watching hold videos from his father's childhood... as long as they ignored the dust on the couch and the crappyness of the TV. Could be fun!

He, Malik, Ezio and Leonardo walked into the living where they found Haytham already fussing with the TV and the VCR. Altair had gone back to the restaurant to pick up their food and in the meantime until he came back they'd make the couches and chairs clean enough to at least sit on, Malik offering to help Haytham with the tapes. Connor honestly thought it'd be a miracle if they still worked.

-=-=-=-

So incredibly old, whilst he remained entirely familiar with technology, it was the newer forms of such. For god sakes, the television had rabbit ears! That and he had Altair stop by and pick up a converter box so that they may actually use the blasted thing. While large in its day, the thirsty six inch television was a heaping waste of space as of now. He was grateful Malik was able to balance it as he slipped the cables into their respected color coded slots. Even so, there was static, and he knew he would need to futz with the channels manually.

And even when he landed on what appeared to be the correct one, there was no telling if the VCR nor tapes would work. Granted they'd used what they could, a keyboard duster and attempted to clean it as was allowed but there was no guarantee. Haytham wasn't sure how it felt about that, honestly. He'd remembered bits and pieces of some of these videos, but in totality they lay forgotten memories. He'd simply been too young to retain such.

The first tape did not play, nor did the second. It was with a small sigh that he pinched the bridge of his nose, uncertain, adjusting the bunny ears yet again, picture finally what would be considered clear before he tried an old trick.

Blowing into the the VCR twice, and following with a blow to the player, he ignored the few looks, a flush light on his face. "… Worked on Nintendo and Atari."

Ezio blinked. "What's an Atari?"

And Haytham was thankful again to Malik, for face palming simultaneously with him as he placed a tape into the VCR again, waiting.

Static. Then a loud bang, and Haytham half thought the VCR imploded, but no... the pull of feed, the focusing of a camera...

He adjusted the rabbit ears until the picture only occasionally faded, another loud bang heard, and he lowered the volume manually, eyes wide as he heard a voice he never thought he'd hear again.

_"A kraken? Defeating ME?"_

Welsh accent aside, the elongated emphasis on vowels could be ignored as grey eyes glanced upward, matching ones meeting the camera just for a moment. And he found himself almost unable to move, doing so impossibly slowly, numbly sitting beside Connor as he looked toward the man before him.

Hair half up, half down, about shoulder length. A light blonde, and stubble gracing a chin, cutting off at the scar on his cheek. The t-shirt he wore lay white, a pair of... oh wait, no. Haytham covered his face, shaking his head as he remembered a very interesting fact about the man; he did not like pants.

Underwear, boxers that were a horrendously ugly color, so much so it pulled a snort from him. But equally as important was the voice of a toddler, well dressed and pristine looking, almost black hair parted to the side and grey eyes wide with what he recognized as fear.

 _"Daddy they has tentacles and teeth and a beak and, and- I sawed, on the television that they can eats your WHOLE ship!"_ Hands waved wildly, Haytham almost baffled at how animated he was as a child. _"They gonna eat you!"_ The squeak in his upset voice was … oh it was almost cute, and he could have sworn he heard Leonardo 'awwww' about ten times already. This was... odd. And slightly amusing. And slightly embarrassing.

The masculine laugh reached his ears, his father picking him up and placing him on his lap. _"They're not reaaaaaal."_

_"Squids is real!"_

_"No, no not- the kraken isn't real, it's just a myth."_

_"What about the ice bergs?"_

_"… Haytham, I'm sailing in the Caribbean."_

The little boy blinked. Edward smiled, booping his nose. _"Too warm."_

_"What if you get lost!"_

_"I won't-"_

_"You could! And then you'll get trapped in the ice 'cause the ice berg attacked you!"_

Abrupt laughter, from both on screen and off, and Haytham found himself leaning against Connor's shoulder, half covering his face. _"They- ice bergs- don't attack people."_

_"They attacked the Titanic!"_

_"No, no- listen."_ Frantic arms were held gently, his father's voice soft, _"They weren't paying attention, that's why they hit the iceberg."_ A blink, and Edward frowned. _"Also, no more Discovery Channel- ow!"_

A poke to his eye, and from behind the camera a woman’s voice called out. _"Haytham!"_

_"See! You wasn't paying attention either!"_

Rubbing his eye Edward frowned, opening his mouth before shutting it and shrugging. _"… I see what you did there. Clever."_ Ruffling his son's head even as Tessa sighed audibly, _"Haytham, apologize."_

 _"… Sowwy."_ And accompanying the apology was a protruding lower lip and watery grey eyes, Edward sighing before pulling his son to his chest. _"I'm not going to die, alright? You just taught me to be on my best guard, and I will be, okay?"_

A small nod and Edward lifted the toddler again, placing him off his lap and onto the floor, but not before ruffling his hair affectionately. _"Go get ready for bed."_

-=-=-=-

Connor could only sit there, and squee on the inside as he watched the screen. He had expected some kind of home video, and it was incredibly _weird_ to see moving footage of his father as a toddler, and his grandfather wearing only a shirt and a pair of boxers of all things!

Edward was a handsome man. It was easy to see where Haytham got his good looks from. Connor pulled his legs up and bit down on his finger to keep himself from laughing as little Haytham bounced around like only a child could. There was no other word for it; it was so cute!

One glance to the side didn't help the situation; Haytham was almost hiding his face in his hands, face flushed, but he still looked at the TV. It was a major improvement from the scowl he had worn the last week.

Leonardo was awwing every few seconds, and Ezio was struggling to hold in his snickers. Even Malik wasn't fully able to mask his amused expression at little Haytham's antics.  
“You know what?” Connor whispered as he leaned closer and reached out with a smirk on his face, pinching Haytham's cheek. “You were so adorable!”

Altair choose that moment to walk into the living room, carrying various white paper bags in his arms and paused, looking at the TV with a slight confused look in his eyes.

“Ah, food!” Ezio jumped up from the couch and quickly walked over to his cousin to take some of the bags from him, as Leonardo grabbed the plates, glasses and silver cutlery they had found and cleaned earlier.

“What are you guys watching...?” Altair muttered as he set the bags on the table, still eying the old TV where young Haytham was now playing with a miniature pirate ship, Edward sitting behind him and holding some of the tin pirate figurines.

“Footage of Haytham when he was a kid. They found some old tapes. The blond guy wearing boxers is his father. Heh,” Elbowing him Ezio smirked and ignored how Connor choked on his own saliva at his words. “Looks like the Kenway bulge is an inherited feature passed down from father to son!”

“ _What?!”_

“Well it _is_ a good size. I have no problem admitting that.”

Connor sputtered and turned an interesting shade of red. “Wh-what are you even doing looking at my... my...”

“Dick.” Ezio added helpfully, and winked. Connor's face turned even redder. “And it's kinda difficult to miss, amigo.”

-=-=-=-

Frowning, he thought to swat Connor's hand away but settled for a disapproving glare, one that didn't reach his eyes. No, he could only flush deeper as the video cut to another, of his father and himself playing amongst the tin pirates beside a diorama he constructed. Flimsy little thing... it almost seemed foolish now, such innocence. Yet the sound of his own laughter during the onslaught of a 'tickle attack' made him flush further. It was... refreshing, a change of pace, watching the dim, tattered walls round them come to life with what once was.

"I beg your pardon?!" Luckily Connor was far more red then he, though Haytham could not help crossing his leg, one over the other. Far from the first time he'd heard such but still! Hardly the point, little cad...

The video faded, leaving Haytham to withdraw the tape, setting it aside, intent on finding something else on the TV.

"What are you doing?"

Leonardo's soft, curious tone, touched with laughter. Haytham titled his head, eyebrow raised. "Finding a suitable channel-"

"Oh." Disappointment seemed to lace not only his face but Connor's as well, Altair speaking. "I didn't even get to see it, and there's like a bazillion tapes over there..."

Eyes fell on him, and he realized, briefly, they wouldn't push the subject. It was his decision...

"I suppose one more couldn't hurt."

He didn't miss Leonardo's excited half clap, nor Altair's interest. He let them set a few plates about, food at the ready before he pressed in the next video, resuming his spot next to Connor, perhaps just a touch closer then before. With his leg notably crossed this time.

Within a moment he saw it, her scowling face, standing by as the tilted camera angle displayed what was him. With a knife no less.

If he was four years old it would be a surprise, and a look of realization dawned on him as he actually _remembered_ this moment.

 _"You're going to cut yourself, you little idiot."_ At twelve years old, Jennifer snootily raised her nose in the hair, Haytham carefully cutting what appeared to be a lemon. _"No."_ A sniffle escaped him but he didn't appear saddened, wiping his nose on a napkin before continuing cutting.

 _"Yes, you will. And then you'll cry and then your mother will coddle you like the little squirt you are."_ A look passed over her, as she watched him cut another bit of lemon. _"Why are you even cutting lemons?"_

_"Scurvy."_

_"Scurvy?"_

_"Yup."_

An inherited eye twitch, and matching grey eyes rolled. _"Why not just pack him an apple juice, idiot?"_

He stopped, mid slice, looking upward, the smallest of smiles on his face. _"He doesn't like apple juice. Now who's the idiot?"_

Oh god... even now he covered his face at the look Jennifer had given him, snatching the camera from off the table before he heard the clatter of little foot steps running, said camera falling to floor and the video blaring before a few moments later it faded, the video showing him sitting, hand wrapped in a bandage. The camera darted then to an expensive looking jacket, moldy, wrinkled lemons being pulled from the pockets.

_"Uhm...Haytham?"_

_"Scurvy."_

_"… Ah. That's... very thoughtful."_

_"I know. That's why I did it."_

The loud, rumbling cackle of a laugh his father possessed echoed before the camera was placed aside, lifting him, warning him about watching the history channel before tickling him. Even now he flinched, hand protectively covering the back of his neck. And from there, the video cut to another, of his father dressed as a pirate with him in matching uniform, obviously excited, clinging to his leg, barely taller then his knee. Oh the memories this brought back...

-=-=-=-

Ooooh more videos!

Scooping his favorite Chinese dishes onto a plate Connor settled back onto the couch, and the way Haytham scooted just a bit closer to him when he sat down as well didn't go unnoticed. It was a good sign he supposed. He still didn't know why this place held such bad memories for his father, as he still refused to look up the history of the house on the internet, but he was glad to see they were capable of averting his attention and even get him to smile. Whatever had happened in this house, it was clear they weren't all bad memories. The fond glimmer in grey eyes was proof of that.

Haytham's obsession with pirates was so amusing, it was no wonder he never complained when he asked him to watch Pirates of the Caribbean with him, because Connor was sure that unlike him, Haytham didn't watch those movies for the sake of drooling over Johnny Depp. Perhaps it reminded him of happier times.

Just what had happened here? What had happened to his grandfather, Edward? Was he a captain for the navy? When had he died, and how? Old age? Disease?

Something else?

Where was his grand mother? He didn't even know her name. And that girl, the same girl as the one on the photo... he didn't know her name either. He could only assume that she was his older sister or something.

Perhaps he could ask dad tomorrow, if his mood still allowed for it. For now though, this showed him enough to keep his curiosity momentarily satisfied. Making sure that no one looked in their direction, Connor scooted a little closer as well, pressed up against his father's side now, and rested his head on the man's shoulder. If anyone noticed, they made no comment on it.

-=-=-=-

How long they sat there, he couldn't say. He could admit that his first bite of food was cold, and they remained seated for sometime after, during the duration of the tape. Almost two full hours of watching himself, Connor pressed to his side in a way that could be simply affectionate given the content of the films. So much he'd forgotten over time...

And even as the video ended, even as they trickled off to 'bed', sleeping bags and sheets and all to be scattered in one solitary clean room, he sat down again next to Connor.

It was in the silence that he extended his arm around him, before getting up and slipping in the contents of perhaps one last video, of what he could not say. His arm slipped back over his shoulders, and his own head rested against Connor's, his voice far softer then it had been in sometime. "One more, then we'll retire..."

A few seconds a the last video turned on, grey eyes widening at what was ...

Oh _god._

He fought the urge to bury his head just barely, the toddling form of what was a very naked three year old Haytham very happily running around the backyard. Followed by a very concerned, frantic woman.

_"Haytham! Fo' the love of GOD, child, should yer mother see you-"_

Jubilant grey eyes locked with the camera, toddling over curiously. _"Look dad, it's like you said!"_ His nanny wrapped him quickly, small body covered in the cotton of a white towel as a very amused laugh broke out. _"O-oh?"_

 _"Yeah!"_ He let himself be lifted, the drizzle turning to rain, Haytham biting his lip as he watched the younger version of himself happily exclaim, _"cold water and 'sticky wickets' ruh-member?"_

Oh god... try as he might, even now he could not stop laughing, not as Edith's face looked between him and his father, eyes wide. _"Yeah I- Haytham, do you know what a sticky wicket is?"_

 _"Um, when you gets sticky stuff on yourself?"_ The nanny dried him, his eyes shutting as his dark hair was wiped. _"That's why you got frustrated when mommy made you get a sticky wicket and then left, 'cause, 'cause she didn't finish the job like you said."_

Edith was almost as scarlet as Haytham felt watching this moment. Burying his face in Connor's hair in an attempt to muffle his laughter, he could picture his father's nod as he spoke. _"Yup. That is... exactly right, Haytham. You are so smart."_

_"But daddy, next time you gets sticky wickets, you should tell Edith and she can do the job for you."_

He was _crying_ damnit. His chest moved with every wrack of silent laughter. Edith practically dropped him, a bark of laughter escaping his father as he said, in jest. _"I'm always up for a job myself so if she really wants to-"_

_"I quit, I swear I'm quitting."_

Curious grey eyes looked between his chuckling father and obviously upset nanny, a little hand tugging her sleeve. "But Eedy! You can't quit on a job!"

"Yeah Eedy, don't be quitin' on a 'job' woman. That's what I pay you for."

Flustered and scarlet, the poor woman shook her head, placing Haytham down, addressing Edward. _"You... go, go clean up yer son."_

 _"Yes'm."_ His chuckle only increased as she clearly left, Haytham covered in a towel that overwhelmed him, little head poking through the mass of white fluff. _"Daddy?"_

_"Heh, yeah?"_

_"Why did the booty make you sticky? Was the treasure covered in juice when you and mommy was playing pirates?"_

_"Oh kiddo, don't you know when daddy plays pirates nearly everything winds up covered in juice?"_

Confused grey eyes met the camera. _"I don't understand."_

_"Thank god for that."_

Even as the camera clicked, he couldn't stop laughing. It was... the longest, hardest he'd laughed in years. His arms could but tighten anymore around Connor, his breathless laughter echoing through the empty room, vainly muffled in dark hair.

-=-=-=-

Connor could only blink and stare and bite his lower lip in an attempt _not_ to break out in laughter, like Haytham was doing. Clearly they had saved the best tape for last! He had no idea what a 'sticky wicket' was but he could guess, but the sight of little three year old Haytham running through the well kept back yard and as naked as on the day he was born would forever be burned into his mind's eye.

“Dad, you're choking me.” Connor made no move to try and unwrap the arms that were tight around his chest and sat still, despite how uncomfortable the position was. His hand patted Haytham's back, feeling his frame shake with his laughter. He'd let him. He deserved a good laugh.

Soon though his hand had turned from patting to stroking, slowly dragging fingers up and down his spine. It took a while for Haytham's laughter to die down and the tight hold around him loosened a bit, allowing him to breathe properly again, but Connor was glad when his father didn't pull away from him. The others had long gone to bed in one of the other rooms, he'd use the moment to just have some alone time with him.  
“You know, I really wasn't so derpy as a kid. I guess that wasn't inherited.” Honestly he wouldn't know, he didn't have any video footage of him as a toddler. Just photos. Of course, those too had captured some really embarrassing moments.

They sat like that for a while, the TV quickly jumping to static as the last video ended as well, and Connor yawned. It wasn't even _that_ late in the evening yet, but with the jet lag and everything... “Bed, hm?” Receiving only a nod Connor carefully removed himself from his father and walked over to the TV to shut it off.  
Instead of joining the others in the family room though, he zipped open a sleeping bag to use as a blanket, clicked off the light and settled on the couch again, pressing flush against Haytham's body and covering them with it. They had a long week ahead of them, but perhaps they could restore this place to its former glory, the way it had been, from the time Haytham's memories of this house had still been happy.

Tomorrow though. He nuzzled a little closer, arms wrapped around Haytham's waist an closed his eyes. Tomorrow. For now, sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right on schedule! One day early even, fancy that.
> 
> I just did a page count, chapter 1 all the way to 18, and so far we have written 530 pages. That's like a fucking novel, holy damn!
> 
> Anyway, no warnings for this chapter except porn (yay), plus an additional warning for Ezio's derpness. This is more or less a bit of a filler chapter, chapter 19 will have more heavy stuff in it (just so you know).  
> As always, enjoy, and let me know of any (grave) errors you find in here.  
> Also, credit to whoever made that brofist of bene picture I see floating around on Tumblr.
> 
> -Necro

Two weeks passed. Most of their time was spent making the mansion livable again, or at least the rooms they planned to use; the place was so big they had all anonymously agreed to only work on what really needed work.

Connor and Haytham had taken up the old master bedroom for them both; Altair and Malik hadn't really batted an eye at their decision to – again – share a room and bed, but their friends from Italy had needed a bit of explanation. They stuck to their original story; sleeping alone still bought nightmares for Connor, and his father's close presence was the only thing that seemed to quench it.

Leonardo and Ezio accepted that.

The others all took separate bedrooms – on the same floor, which served to irritate Connor slightly. He'd no idea just how thick or thin the walls were in this place and he was really aching for some private _alone_ time with his father.

The kitchen was completely scrubbed out and disinfected, all the pots and pans and other kitchenware replaced with new stuff. A comfortable new couch plus a few chairs had replaced the old ones in the living room, and the old TV with the rabbit ears had made way for a large flat screen with blu-ray player – though they kept the old VCR player in case they ever found time to clean out the attic, perhaps there were still more tapes to be found. The old wine cellar, they found, when cleaned out, was big enough to serve as a future training area.

Leonardo had taken interested in the old play room and had requested Haytham's permission to turn it into his new workshop; already it was cluttered with things he had collected for his future projects, the room was no less messy than it had been when they first arrived here, just cleaner. He had also shown interest in the overgrown garden and had made it no secret that he wished to return it to its former glory some day – or at least make it less messy. 

To everyone's surprise, and that included Malik, Altair had offered to help with that; when asked about it he'd simply shrugged and muttered something about liking 'plants and shit', before promptly turning away so they wouldn't see his reddened face. Ezio hadn't helped by bursting out in laughter but Leonardo had gladly accepted the offered help.

As for Ezio, Connor had found that they really did get along great. Sure, their growing friendship had its awkward moments, especially when they were strolling through London and Ezio simply couldn't contain himself when they passed a pretty girl, but so far he hadn't done anything to really embarrass Connor as well. It turned out they liked similar things; games, TV shows, movies. There was also something to talk about, and Connor found he really liked Ezio's goofy, playful joking nature and... strange quirks, one of them being something they had dubbed the Bro Fist of Bene, a move Connor had adopted completely.

He was still waiting for the right moment to bro fist his father, just so he could see the look on his face!

Malik spent a lot of time with Haytham, talking about their future plans concerning the dens. With the house well on its way of becoming livable and even comfortable again, it was high time to decide where to strike next, and more importantly; how.

Sydney seemed the most likely right now, it was the only city mentioned in the e-mails found on the laptop. It was still the only lead they had though, but... where to even begin?

“Ugh I hate rain, I hate rain, I hate it! Merda...” Shivering Ezio stormed into the parlor and reached up to wrench the cold rain water out of his ponytail, grumbling to himself as he did so. Connor followed in after him, equally drenched but seemingly less bothered by it.

“It's not that bad. It's not like you never had rain in Italy.” he muttered, closing the front door and ran his hand through his hair; he had finally decided to grow it out again. He'd had the mohawk long enough. Things had changed and it only felt right that this would change with them. So far though, he thought with a grimace as he felt the rough texture of short hairs growing on either side of his skull, so far it looked _messy._

“London rain is shitty.” Ezio growled back, tossing his jacket into a corner where it landed with a wet splat on the tiles. “It also makes me hungry. Is your dad cooking tonight?”

“I dunno.” He hoped so! Nothing beat his father's cooking!

“Leo's a good cook.”

“Pfft, not as good as my dad.”

“Bullshit.”

“No it's not.”

“I still call bullshit.”

“Shut it, ponytail boy.”

“Make me, you tree hugger.”

They entered the kitchen squabbling like this, back and forth, jabbing at each other with words; it was something everyone had gotten used to be now. It was all on a friendly basis.

-=-=-=-

"Is it ready yet?"

"No."

"You didn't even look at it."

Malik rolled his eyes, turning the creased page of his novel. "That's because it takes more then two minutes for chicken to cook." One could hear the smirk in his voice. "Get out of the kitchen and back in the garden, homo."

"Aye, none of that shit." Playfully, a pair of tan hands covered ears dramed by blonde hair, Leonardo busy chopping a tomato for the salad that would go with the fettuccine alfredo (and chicken for those who wanted) that he and Haytham had collaboratively made. Altair's voice remained teasing. "You're making the homo feel bad. And half of Haytham."

"I assure you I couldn't care less." Silken was the voice of said man, dress shirt rolled upwards, sleeves exposing muscular arms and bunching at his elbows. "Now get by the table and be patient, you'll burn your hand knowing you."

"Yes _mooom."_

Haytham didn't bother to respond verbally, blowing on a fresh bit of pasta from one of three pans until adequately cooled, before flinging such at Altair, hitting him in the back of the head. He only offered a nonchalant whistle at the wet splat of pasta against skin, followed by an accusation.

He'd grown so accustomed to them now, as well as this house. Nothing like its former state- different colors, different furniture, and a thankfully different atmosphere- he did still miss his New York skyline.

Though not as much as he'd thought. William turned out to be an avid Skyper, the two speaking to one another for at least two hours cam to cam, ranging from business to well- personal news. Haytham could but fight the grin, wondering when he should tell Connor of William's increasing fondness over a certain lady. He vaguely wondered if that was even his place...

But all was going... well. He'd a rough patch when explaining to Connor _where_ his father had died; it had been a group decision to leave his last place the way it was, a permanent piece of remembrance, a tribute to him.

He was grateful for it. Even more so to share the information with the very curious boys. It seemed no amount of home videos could satisfy them- much to his amusement and occasional embarrassment- they'd watched half and still insisted on keeping the archaic VCR. Even that he found himself unable to truly mind.

It was, however, getting time to come down to business. Leonardo had been at work for some time on prototypes for uniforms, but they still needed to see Sydney to truly gauge what they needed. It was easy to forget why they were here on occasion, when he found himself preoccupied in a completely foreign way. Paperwork had given way to the GIS security system he and Malik had learned, but he cooked and admittedly did far more laundry now then he even thought possible.

And it bothered him far less then he ever thought.

"Throw that noodle back at me and I will torment you in ways not yet known."

Altair halted mid throw, looking between Malik and Leonardo, Leonardo biting his lip but snickering at Altair's face. "How the fuck do you do that?!"

"Some call it a sixth sense, eyes in the back of my head..."

"Or your reflection was in the microwave, you dumb ass." Malik added with a snort.

Beaming, Haytham blew on the spoon he held, walking over to offer Malik the first taste. "You're definitely one of the two smart ones."

"Mm. That's perfect by the way."

"Of course it is, I made it. I'm known for making nothing less."

Speaking of which... he could hear the heavy footsteps, creaking, Haytham giving Leonardo instructions to allow Altair a single taste only before walking out of the kitchen, eying Frick and Frack. "I'm surprised you didn't get lost." A smirk and he pat Ezio's cheek. "What, no pregnant stripper to bring home on your merry quest?" That better be the right wine in one of those bags. He gave a quick glance at Connor, lips twitching upward. He'd a plan or two for the evening, or the one to follow if such could be mustered.

-=-=-=-

Ezio's anger was a sputtered grumble as he brushed passed Haytham into the kitchen and dumped his bag of groceries on the table.  
Setting his own on the table as well Connor stood behind Leonardo and peeked over his shoulder, watching him stir the slices of tomato and cucumber through the salad. Mmmmm smelled so good! “It looks delicious, Leonardo. This is gonna be- ow!”

Quickly jerking his hand back Connor stared down at the fingers the painter had just smacked with a spoon, and rubbed it. What the fuck!

“Grazie Connor, but wait until dinner.”

Pfft! “Yes ma'am.” He smirked and ducked away when Leonardo tried to tap his head with the spoon next, but the amused twinkle in his blue eyes betrayed that he was only playing.

“What got Ezio in such a bad mood?” Malik asked, looking up from his book as Connor sat down next to him and rubbed his hand. 

Altair, who impatiently drummed his fingers on the table glanced in his direction as well and snickered. “Pretty boy got his hair wet and now he's all pissy because of it.”

Another grumble from Ezio, and Leonardo's spoon clattered into the sink as he quickly made his way to his friend's side and reached up, trying to untangle the mess of wet strands that was Ezio's hair. “Here, I'll fix it for you.”

“What? No, Leo- stop, I can- cut it out, I can fix myse- Leo!”

Quickly clapping his hand over his mouth Connor snickered and looked from Leonardo, who had fished a hair brush out of his pocket – why the hell he kept a hairbrush in his pocket was beyond him – and was now attacking Ezio's hair with it, to Haytham who was checking up on the chicken, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. House wives, both of them!

“Enough Leo, c'mon.” Tugging himself away from Leonardo and his hairbrush of doom Ezio quickly scooted to the table and sat on Connor's other side. Malik's eyes were on his book again, but Connor knew he wasn't reading a single word of the story.  
He couldn't help himself, he had to reach out and pinch a stubborn strand of damp brown hair between his fingers, trying to tug it away from Ezio's face, who immediately slapped his hands at him to make him stop.

“Knock it off already, geez!”

“Someone is grumpyyyyyyyyy.” Connor teased and leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs.

“I'm not grumpy, I'm _hungry._ There's a difference.” Picking up one of the magazines lying on the table he rolled it up and tossed it against Haytham's shoulder. “Is the chicken ready yet?”

-=-=-=-

Oh god now there was two of them. Altair nodded, throwing a napkin Haytham's way. "Yeah, exactly. How long does the damn bird take to make?"

A dead pan stare was their response, Haytham adding dryly. "I am unaware of the gestation period of a bird, I can only tell you how long it takes to cook one. I'm assuming that's what you two meant?"

"Just tell us when it'll be ready, old man."

"How about I let you starve because it amuses me." He didn't bother to avoid the napkin holder, unimpressed. "I will water board you, Ezio."

Snickering, Altair playfully punched his cousin in the shoulder. "Please don't, we won't hear the end of it, him and his poor flowing locks of hair." With sarcasm Altair ruffled said fixed hair, a string of Italian curses leaving Ezio, Leonardo mock frowning. "Language."

"Pipe down, drama queer."

"Original, Altair." The smile never left Leonardo's face, Altair sticking his tongue out. 

"Whatever, chicken little."

"If I'm a chicken you're a dodo."

The snort that left Malik was audible, eyes drifting upward, squinting. "I can see it. Especially in the beak of a nose."

"Aye, low blow Mal." Curiously he eyed Haytham once more, the oven closed and stove turned off, pasta done and placed onto plates neatly. "Speaking of low blows, how's the love life, Haytham?" It came as little surprise to find Haytham had been notably gay for a large portion of his life, Altair baffled but accepting of it. So long as he could crack jokes.

"Mm. It's ongoing." Removing the at last done chicken, grey eyes twinkled, smile evident. "Which you'd know if you called your mother more often."

Whatever Ezio was sipping on was coughed up, Leonard's eyes shutting as he covered his mouth and Malik nodding from behind his book as Haytham walked the chicken over the table, placing it down and removing the oven mit. "And you just got 'served'." The air quotes he supplied only amplified the ridiculousness, Leonardo chortling as he brought over some of the plates with some help from Malik.

-=-=-=-

Oh if only they knew... Connor eyed his father as he set the chicken on the table. It was good that he hadn't made it a secret that he had a preference for men – something Connor hadn't bothered to share with the others so far – and fortunately nobody seemed to have a problem with it.

And it was good they could all still joke about it. Whatever it took to keep the secret between _them._ He had no idea how the others would react if they found out the truth, that he and Haytham were far more than just father and son. They'd be disgusted, they might even leave...

Heh, thinking back, if anyone had ever told him that he would become this close to his father one day... no, he would have pronounced them completely and utterly insane. It seemed like a whole different life now, lived by another person... those times when he and Haytham were still very much strangers, hating each others existence and fighting over Ziio's affection and time.

And look at them now. He didn't regret it all.

“Dad.” Raising his fist he held it up and grinned at his father, nodding in Altair's direction. “C'mon, you totally owned him just now. Bro fist of bene! Lets go!”

-=-=-=-

Bro fist of... oh god, this again? Try as they might he'd refused the 'bro-fists' as Ezio called them, down right staring at the boy until he dropped his hand. Bro fist of bene...

He prepared the same dead pan look but noted Connor was giving him doe eyes. That innocent, please-like-me-I'm- an-overgrown-puppy-in-a-massive-wolves-body look.

He could blame it on their lack of interaction beyond cuddling. A begrudgent fist was made and he sighed. "Very well, but this is the first and last one." And there it was, tan and slightly freckled face lighting up before him. And for a moment his own lips twitched upward, knuckles meeting his sons before Ezio hollered, "Bro fist of bene!"

"Yes, yes, very well." He still wore the same amused look, fetching forks and knives, Leonardo removing a few drinks, including a chilled glass of wine. Haytham managed to stuff the other bottle aside for later, chilling it before returning. "Now eat. We've a lot to discuss after dinner." Namely tactics, and the procuring of weaponry, which he'd thankfully managed to get under way. Plus... "I'll be modeling a prototype after this, the combat suits will have the same foundation." He spoke in between a sip of wine and bite of food. "If anyone would like to see- which you all very well should- it'll be after dinner and before we start discussing Sydney."

-=-=-=-

Pfft. First one, yes. Last one, not by a long shot. His knuckles bumped against Haytham's, Ezio hollering and Connor raised his arms in the air, a triumphant look on his face. “SCORE!” Heh, and he'd get Haytham to do it again before the week was over.

The room was silent for the next few minutes as everyone picked their share, cutlery clinking on plates. Connor and Altair both focused on the chicken, locked in a silent glare-down over the last chicken wing as Malik had decided to take the other.

Ezio poked his fettuccine with a pleased expression on his face as he chewed, swallowed and poked Connor in the shoulder. “Leo is still the better cook.”

“What? No!” Tearing his eyes away from the chicken – Altair quickly snatching the wing with a gleeful grin – Connor stared his friend down his nose, lips pressed into a thin line. “My dad's chicken beats Leonardo's stupid pasta every damn day of the week! No offense to you, Leo.”

“None taken.” the blonde answered with a smile on his face; he had gotten so used to their (somewhat childish banter) he knew better than to take any insults seriously. It was just their way of having fun.

“No it doesn't.” Ezio sputtered, slowly rolling strands of pasta around his fork.

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn't.”

“Yes it does.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Nu-uh!”

“Ya-uh!”

“Nu- _uh!”_

“Ya-uuuuuhhhh!”

“Oh my god, knock it off already!”

Both turning to Altair, Connor and Ezio blinked at him, trying to look as innocent as possible. “Knock what off?”

“That!” the man growled, jabbing his half-eaten chicken wing in their direction. “The whole ya-uh nu-uh thing. Do you know what you sound like? Like those two annoying brats from that Disney movie, about that guy who turns into a llama. Emphasis on _annoying.”_

“Oh!” Banging his fist on the table Ezio's lips split into a wide grin, a twinkle in his dark amber eyes. “That's a fun movie! You don't happen to have that on disk?”

“What? Emperor's New Groove? Maybe.” It really _was_ one of the better Disney movies, Connor agreed. He did have it, but there was a good chance it was still back in their apartment in New York. “You know what this means, don't you Ez? Disney marathon!”

“Fuck yeah! This calls for a bro-fist of bene!”

“Bro-fist of molto bene!”

Behind them Malik looked sorely tempted to plant his face into his plate, and Altair face palmed with both hands. These guys... no, _kids,_ were giving him a _headache!_ “Haytham, control your damn son or I will seriously dick punch him a new one.” he grumbled.

-=-=-=-

They were like children. Two over grown, immature children, loud and raucous. And he should be more irritated; it was loud banter and nonsensical behavior, coupled with- and he shuddered at the thought, frowning- Disney movie references? Biting into a tomato he observed them, silently. Of all the horrendous materials to quote...

Yet Connor's laughter and their combined jovial nature... his own lips threatened to pull upwards. Swirling a glass of wine he inhaled, listening to Altair's 'threat' if it could even be called such. Setting his Merlot aside he wiped his mouth, eying Altair, grey eyes serious.

"Dick punch my own son?" And he couldn't fight the smirk, elbow resting on the table and his head in the palm of his hand. "Nu-uh."

"That's it. I'm jumping off the roof."

Malik added, dryly. "Take them with you."

Haytham was however too caught up in watching his son smile, for the umpteenth time, another fist bump shared between the two boys. After all that had happened in the pits, Connor had stopped smiling much. Laughing even, not that he'd done so exponentially before, but there was notable difference in demeanor. Perhaps it was why he added, briefly patting his son's hand, softly. "… I'm sure we could find it. Though I think Altair would be more comfortable with a movie that better suited him, say Aladdin." He was greeted with two fingers flipping him off from across the table.

"Racism from a guy named Haytham?" Chewing his pasta, Altair added, gesturing to his own completion. "What, I'm not dark enough for you? You're probably one of those guy who think 'the darker the berry the sweeter the juice'." Haytham could only smile, flushing marginally. Admittedly the concept was not entirely foreign to him...

And yet as the flush subsided he shrugged, finishing the last of his wine. "It's not your complexion nor ethnicity. Rather you're just not man enough for me."

He could not flush any darker, though that comment even pulled a laugh from Leonardo, who sheepishly kept his head down, covering his face with both hands as Altair shook his head, grin present. Malik smirked, quietly adding, "He got you there."

-=-=-=-

“Altair got buuuuuuuurned.” Snickering Ezio whispered to Connor behind the palm of his hand, and while he nodded his eyes remained on his father. He looked pleased for some reason and he could only fathom why, but it was a good thing. Heh, Haytham was so much prettier to look at when he wasn't scowling.

In all seriousness though, Haytham was smiling, at them, at _him,_ cracking jokes and looking comfortable where he was, even in this place. It was a good sign.

The rest of the meal was shared in relative silence, Connor trying Leonardo's pasta as Ezio nibbled on a chicken leg, smirking at each other as they did because _of course_ both men were great cooks. His dad was still better though, Connor mused as he slumped down in his chair a little further, under the pretense of getting more comfortable, and pushed his leg forward.

The first prod of his toes against Haytham's foot was light, teasing and probably ticklish. He had to focus on on his plate and force himself not to look at his father's face as he began to lightly rub before slowly trailing his foot up the inside of his leg.  
Biting back a smirk picked up his wine glass and pretended to listen to the conversation going on between Altair and Leonardo discussing their plans concerning the garden, and sipped from the liquid, quickly glancing at his father's face as he pushed his foot forward between his thighs.

Thank god for the table cloth.

-=-=-=-

Perhaps he'd a drink too many. Ah well, it wasn't often he'd access to wine. Or rather he had, but such little time to drink it. And he quite liked the blackberry sangria, more so then the Merlot.

The half empty bottle beside him spoke of such, a temporary touch of pink added to his face. Certainly nothing to keep him from plans- including modeling what would be Leonardo's Kevlar design. Twirling his fork, Haytham half listened to the conversation about the garden, strangely at peace. One of the rarer times he'd ever felt truly comfortable...

Speaking of comfortable.

He needed to keep his foot still, the light brush of toes against his own causing lips to twitch. He needn't look Connor's way, the pressure increasing, the slow ascension over his leg pleasant. Against his thigh it rested, a gentle reminder of how long it had been for them. Weeks... perhaps over a month now, with only small moments of physical nicety spent between them, mainly in the form of light petting and limited nuzzling. Of course such would change tonight, if things were to go his way.

Ah but, still- while unangry at his lads antics- work needed to be completed. And this was certainly no place for such gestures. He allowed a brief look, hand disappearing under the table to gently squeeze toes before giving his leg a pat. "I've the suits to 'model'- and I use that loosely- for everyone. After such time, I think I'll retire early for the evening." It was a hint, one he'd hope Connor would understand as he offered Ezio a small nod, adding. "Perhaps a tad too much wine for one of lesser capacity." Which was not entirely untrue, though he could handle more liquor.

Noticing plates were clearing, it was with one last squeeze to Connor's foot that he made to stand- oh, whoops, almost tripped on positively nothing- a small, embarrassed chuckle leaving him.

"The suits then Leonardo." It was devoid of slur, though a little more chipper then necessary as he addressed the group as a whole. "Now bare in mind this is a prototype, thought he kevlar shall offer extreme benefits." That and... he would like to try on the attire, all black and well fit in all areas. He gave Connor one last look, unable to prevent the Cheshire grin.

He'd like this. He was sure of it.

-=-=-=-

Oh wow... Connor swallowed thickly and slowly lowered his leg as Haytham left the kitchen, closely followed by Leonardo. That grin... he _knew_ what that grin meant. Retiring early, huh? His heart skipped a beat and his throat suddenly felt dry as he realized the implications of this... he had planned something, hadn't he? Oh he totally had! That grin and the look in grey eyes...! Oh oh oh, he'd have to think up a solid excuse to 'retire' early as well, without arousing suspicion! Oh man that was going to be challenging, but it'd be so worth it-

“Dude, are you okay? Your face is all red.”

“What?” Connor blinked at Ezio, his voice a little more high pitched than usual, and he swallowed. “Nothing! Nothing's wrong, just... the wine. Can't hold my liquor.” He chuckled nervously and silently cursed himself. Ah, that wasn't too far from the truth anyway, he wasn't a heavy drinker to begin with.

Altair and Malik seemed to accept his explanation, aware of that little fact as well, but Ezio's eyes remained fixed him, calculating, and Connor quickly changed the subject. “So this uh... prototype suit... Leonardo made something?”

Malik nodded in affirmation, but that only served to confuse him more. Just... how... when? Leonardo had helped around the house as well, how the hell had he found time to create a prototype suit, whatever that was supposed to mean or look like? It better not look ridiculous, though he supposed it would be easier to shoot their targets if they were rolling over the floor laughing because they looked like wannabe superheroes. Oh god please, no capes! “So... did anyone already had a chance to see it?”

“Nope, this is something he concocted up with Haytham, they've been keeping it a secret.”

“Oh.” Hm. Well then. He was still a little bit worried but he didn't think Haytham would ever request something that would look... weird. But he really had no idea what to expect here.

“I wouldn't worry too much.” Ezio mused as he sipped from Connor's wine and patted him on the shoulder. “Leonardo is a genius, whatever he ended up making it's gonna be awesome.”

-=-=-=-

It took but a moment to situate themselves in Leonardo's new work area, Haytham grabbing the uniform and carrying such behind his back, fingers pressed to his lips. "No peeking." Like they would, but it was said in jest, from behind the curtain. "Leonardo you can begin the speech I know you prepared and rehearsed."

Knowingly, Leonardo cleared his throat, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Oh he had been waiting to unveil this, how exciting!

"Well, given what Haytham's told me thus far, there's a substantial issue with gunfire in particular. Now of course we're not under the impression wounds won't be received from machetes and the like, nor explosives such as grenades, but to keep enemies at a distance and to keep yourselves relatively safe by ensuring you can stay at a distance we needed something to protect against bullets, yet versatile and breathable." The sound of a zipper being undone stood out, Haytham visibly stepping outside his pants, a dim shadow cast by the curtain.

Altair whistled loudly, "Flash us some nip!"

The response was an elbow to the side from Malik. "Continue Leonardo."

"Oh it's quite alright." With a soft chuckle he began again, Altair rubbing his side in mock hurt. "Now we've no idea just how many dens there might be nor the location, so we want something breathable and flexible should layers be a necessity. Furthermore, something that existed and was plentiful was desired so the uniforms are in fact replaceable." Haytham stilled, leg outstretched as he pulled on the body suit, Ezio whistling. 

"Hopefully there's enough breathable room for the 'inherited little Kenways' eh?" 

Leonardo didn't bother to look back, lips twitching. "… We've addressed that." A faint flush and cough, and Leonardo went back to his speech, noticeably pink. "The material used is a combination, something in between Kevlar, for maximun protection, and spandex, for maximum flexibility."

"I'm quite ready, Leonardo." Clapping his hands together briefly, the blonde parted the curtains, revealing the 'model'. And an even more excited clap as he pulled Haytham center stage, the older man standing straight, tall, with a smirk on his lips.

It left nothing to imagination, a second skin coating his own, tight around his nether regions, both back and front, but comfortable rather then an irritation. Long, fine silky black material with a Kevlar lining, Haytham waited for Leonardo to back away and clear his throat, grey eyes briefly flickering to Connor as Leonardo asked, "So, how flexible is it, Haytham?"

"I'm so glad you asked." Legs parted, Haytham lowering himself until his legs managed to bend into a split, careful to avoid hurting something of significant importance. Fixing himself upright, one leg was stretched, foot over his head much to the shock of his audience. A particular member of importance, who he made eye contact with before setting his leg down, slowly.

Only to do it to the other, daring to turn on his heel, making sure they could see his backside. Looking over his shoulder, he had to stop the snicker from escaping him, adding, softly. "I know. Flexible, strong, appealing-" he lowered his leg, offering Connor a look, facing front again. "And the suit is wonderful too. Any comments, questions?"

-=-=-=-

Oh oh oh, this was _bad._

Good in a way, because the moment Haytham stepped from behind the curtain, dressed in the most tight fitting (and fortunately far from ridiculous looking) body suit he'd ever seen, was _hot_ and sent blood rushing down into his nether regions.

Bad _because_ it sent blood rushing down his nether regions and Ezio and Malik were sitting on either side of him!  
As discreetly as he possible could, aware of his stiffer-than-normal posture, Connor tried to tug the table cloth over his crotch to hide the evidence – the last thing he needed now was for Ezio to notice it and make even more commentary about 'famous, inherited Kenway bulges'. Especially because this would very hard to explain.

And goddammit, dad! He wasn't making this any easier by showing off how flexible the fabric was! Jesus fucking Christ, since _when_ was he able to do _that_ with his legs?! And he kept giving him that _look_ too.

Gripping the edge of his seat tightly with both hands Connor grit his teeth, breathing deeply through his nose as he tried to keep his body under control; it really didn't help that it had been so long either.

Altair was the first to ask a question, raising his hand to draw the attention to him (much to Connor's relief). “I take it this is just the basic suit and it will have more features and stuff?”

“This is just a prototype, yes.” Leonardo answered with a gesture towards Haytham. “To test if the material was suitable for this. So far no complaints.”

“What else will be added?”

“Wellllll...” Turning Leonardo rubbed his fingers along his goatee as he trailed his gaze down Haytham's body, though his eyes were on the suit itself only. “I might have to add a bit more extra protective padding in certain areas, just to be on the safe side. And we will need something to hide your identities with, without obscuring vision and other senses. I have some ideas on that, one being a good communication system, but all that is still in the blueprint phase. And it still needs fitting boots and gloves and the like-”

“Can we make requests?” Ezio piped in, cutting the man off and Leonardo blinked. “I mean, if we want something to look a certain way, so we don't all look exactly the same.”

“I... don't see why not.” Shrugging Leonardo crossed his arms over his chest and turned to look Haytham over once again. “I'm going to finish his first, the prototype is functional enough to be used. But yes sure, once the basic design is done, if you wish for something in particular and if it's possible to do then yes.”

Satisfied Ezio leaned back into his chair. Heh, this was great! They all got to look awesome while fucking up those dens and rescuing people! Like damn super heroes!

“What about weapons?” Malik asked and all eyes turned to him, though he kept his eyes on Haytham. “There is no guarantee that we will be able to steal weapons the next time we visit a den, and the amount of guns used against us in Bali was... more than I had expected. We might need some serious firepower, no?” Better safe than sorry.

-=-=-=-

"A good question, though I expected no less." The touch of admiration could not be hindered from Haytham's voice, even though he needed to divert attention from his son for a moment. "For obvious reasons we can not purchase weaponry, so I thought it best to... use methods that weren't exactly legal."

It was not a grand weapon, Haytham pulling the Browning gun from a nearby drawer, but what was important was glaringly obvious. "Untraceable, no serial numbers, and available if you perhaps seek the seedier areas surrounding the city. And pay but that's hardly an issue." Though what he was looking for was nearly quadruple the price. Ah well, such was the price of success. "They've quite the extensive collection, so much so that- within reason-" his eyes rested over Altair, Ezio, and Connor individually, "… you may pick the weapons you so desire."

"Seriously?! That's so fucking awesome!" Clapping his hand on Ezio's shoulder, Altair beamed. "We get to gank these mother fuckers with anything we want."

"Need I stress within reason?" Grey eyes held an amber gaze. "We cannot have weaponry that is too loud nor heavy. But, I shall have you look up pictures of what's available and you can pick what best suits the teams and your own individual names." 

The excitement did not wear down in the slightest, Haytham clearing his throat for a final announcement. "It will also be necessary to choose a nickname, one that could be overheard without causing suspicion regarding identification. I think it best we go with animal names, but I will leave the decision to you, as I may have drank just a tad too much this evening." Indeed, there was the slightest flush on his cheeks, Haytham clapping Leonardo on the shoulder. "They're perfect, far more then anything I'd have concocted alone." The excited grin and lively eyes spoke more then Leonardo's exciting, slightly stuttered thanks, Haytham offering a gentle grin. "Could I perhaps wear the suit for a while longer? It is horribly comfortable."

"Hm? Oh yes! Just be careful and bring it back in the morning."

Of course. And with that, my lads, I bid you good night." Indeed, he ruffled Altair and Ezio's heads on the way out, sparing Malik a pat on the shoulder, and Connor...

He licked his lips, smirk gentle as he slipped passed them and up the stairs into his master bedroom, letting out a laugh as he shut the door. Oh if only Connor could see his own face! The weeks of practice truly had made all the difference, Haytham deciding to resume a flexible position as he waited, practicing.

No doubt he'd be there soon.

-=-=-=-

Connor slowly allowed his breath to escape through his teeth as Haytham left the room. Oh that fucker, teasing him like that! They couldn't even _do_ anything in this house and yet he was... he was...

…

Maybe he really _did_ have something planned. But how to follow up to the master bedroom without arousing suspicion? Perhaps he could pretend to be tired? Nah, that wouldn't work, he was never tired this early in the evening, they'd never buy it.   
Illness then? Pfft no, Leonardo would see right through that, and Malik too for that matter. What then? Hmmm...

“Something the matter, Connor?”

“Uwha?”

Next to him Ezio snorted in his hand at his intelligent answer, but Leonardo just smiled at him. “I asked if there is something bothering you. You look troubled.”

“... do I?”

“Yes. If it's about the suits, I can guarantee you that I will do my very best and then some to ensure your maximum protection and safety, I promise.”

“Oh. Oh no no no, it's not that, Leonardo. I know you will, I have absolute faith in you.”

“Thank you, Connor, but if it's not the suits then what is it that's troubling you?”

“Uh...” Well I kinda wanna go up cuz I'm hoping to finally get fucked into oblivion by my dad, but an answer like that wouldn't go over very well. To his surprise Leonardo suddenly reached out and pressed his palm against his cheek, hm'ing for a second before he moved it up to his forehead. Not daring to move Connor sat stiffly in his chair, staring at the blonde's sleeve and swallowed. “Leo...?”

“You're a little warm to the touch.”

Oh, was he? Well no surprise there! Perhaps he could go with the illness excuse after all! “Well, I do feel a little-”

“Off to bed with you then!”

Connor blinked sheepishly at the man, who put his hands on his hips and stared down at him. That was easy. “Go go go!” He quickly stumbled up and out of his chair as Leonardo shushed him towards the door. “Get some rest. And tell Haytham I sent you up. If he has a problem with it he can go sleep on the couch!”

Oh hell no he wouldn't. “Thanks Leo.” He meant it. Raising his hand he waved at the others, “G'night.” and quickly left. Crossing the hallway he broke off into a run and stomped up the stairs, nearly tripping over his feet and he rushed around the corner and kicked open the door of the master bedroom.

“You fucking tease!” Smirking Connor nudged the door shut behind him with his foot and stepped forward, eying his father's form up and down; he was _still_ wearing that suit! He didn't even bother to hide the hungry look in his eyes as he marched forward, following every visible sharp contour of Haytham's body; protection and everything was great and all, but damn these suits were tight! “You had better not be just teasing me for shits and giggles without really _meaning_ it after so long.”

Even so, what were the chances of them actually getting to do anything other than quicky hand jobs and the like? The others would hear...

-=-=-=-

"Tease, hm?" Stretching his legs across the bed, he lay there, bringing his knee to his chest, and pressing his forehead to it. The smirk never left his face. "I've no idea what you're referring to."

All games aside, Haytham lowered his leg, shifting to lay on his side. He didn't bother to hide his gaze, dragging eyes over the clothed body before him, the taste of naked skin remembered. Too long... it had been far too long. The faint hardening he felt by looking him up and down was proof of that. Lips twitched as they reached the handsome face, strong cheek bones and wide jaw softened by full lips. And of course, the tease of hair.

"I enjoyed the mohawk." Without trepidation he stood, thumb skirting to trace a cheek bone before traveling to feel the presence of newly sprouting hair. "Though admittedly growing it out would make this easier."

As the words left his lips, Haytham grabbed dark hair by its pony tail, twisting it until it was a leash in his hand before yanking.

He used the surprise to his advantage, a full bottom lip caught between his teeth and bitten lightly, teeth scraping sensitive flesh before he dared kiss him.

Even that had seemed to happen forever ago. A proper kiss with his tongue demanding, hand still tight in dark locks, pulling, roughly holding him to him. He wasted no time grabbing the pert ass before him, kneading before giving it a playful slap, only to repeat the action. Saliva reached his chin, teeth, tongue, and lips attributing to their sloppiness.

Even as he parted he could feel the thrum in Connor's chest, his own mirroring the action. Strapping, handsome lad... his own desires were besting him, his needs surpassing his will to keep this slow. Instead teeth bit the pulse before him, nipping, lips sucking, Haytham moving from the spot behind his ear to his Adam's apple in pecks and nips. Too damn long... the taste, while familiar, was beyond intoxicating, his hands scattered, touching, pulling as clothing and groping, trying to expose skin.

Consumed by passion, he murmured against dark skin, fingers trailing over clothed ribs, "I've missed this, and you, lad."

-=-=-=-

It almost came as an attack, albeit a very pleasant one. The hand in his hair, fisting it until it was almost painful, teeth nibbling on his lower lip, a tongue plunging into his mouth, demanding and exploring, and the hand that came down to kneed hiss ass in between playful slaps. 

It was messy. It was rough. It was borderline brutal, and Connor loved every second of it. It was exactly as Haytham said; he had missed this, and _him._ There was still the worry that someone would hear them, but the longer he stood there, with his father nibbling and sucking on the flesh behind his hair before drifting down his neck, the less important it seemed to become. Like it just didn't matter anymore.

Connor's hands gripped Haytham's hips and yanked him closer, rotating his own to grind their groins together to create delicious friction between the layers of fabric. He could _feel_ Haytham's muscles ripple under the tight material of the body suit, almost like it was a second skin. He could only imagine how it would look like on him... and if it would be a turn-on for his father as it was for him.

As much as he liked the suit though, it needed to come off. Hands tugged at his own clothes and Connor had to step back from the press of lips against his Adam's apple, biting back a reluctant groan and pulled his shirt over his head.  
It fell to the floor in a careless messy heap and Connor closed the distance between them once before, but before his father could lean in again to attack his throat a second time he knelt down, trailing his hands down his ribcage and sides until they came to a stop on his hips.

He eyed the bulge in front of him hungrily, a healthy flush forming in his cheeks as he licked his lips. Did it even have room to grow in there, he wondered? Didn't matter... it was all to be his anyway, to have, to take, to feel and to taste.  
Eyes fluttering shut he leaned forward and parted his lips, pushing the flat of his tongue between legs and slowly dragging a wet stripe up; the material felt odd on his tongue but underneath he could _feel_ the trapped, throbbing heat. It wasn't _enough!_

“Take this fucking suit off.”

-=-=-=-

A noise, between a feral growl and eager grunt, low in his throat. Now that was a look for the lad, on his knees, between his legs, tongue teasing him through the suit. He could feel it, slick, damp, curling...

Suit be damned!

He'd lost the ability to tease, coy behavior shed with the confines of black Kevlar, the small zipper undone instantly. Black pooled around his feet in a heap, Haytham lifting each leg and tossing it aside, intent on keeping it clean. Or as clean as the floor would allow.

Breath exited him in excited huffs, cock bobbing already, dotted with a dab of pre-cum. The air seemed cool against his skin, which prickled pleasantly. Looking down, he dared to smirk, fisting Connors hair. Grey eyes filled with a lust ridden promise. "Your pants, loose them." He practically flung himself on the bed, sitting against the headboard, hand going to stroke his cock as he looked up and down his son again. "I've something I'd like to do to you, and I wish to see your face when I do it."

-=-=-=-

Connor leaned back just enough to give Haytham room to get out of the suit, sucking his lower lip between his teeth as he watched how his father's cock sprung free from its confines, already half hard and leaking. Before he could lean in again though, Haytham's fist returned to his hair and gripped his hard enough to hold his head in place.

Dafuq man? Glancing up he caught the smirk on his face and arched an eyebrows. His pants huh? Okay! Quickly rising to his feet he struggled with the button and the zipper of his jeans, his fingers trembling in excitement and growing arousal. Finally getting them loose he gripped them tightly and shoved them down his legs, underwear and all and kicked them aside. Ugh, finally! Freedom!

“A plan, huh?” he asked as he crawled unto the bed, intent to resume his precious position, but then he caught the look in grey eyes... what, he shouldn't-? Oh. He shuffled forward, sitting next to him instead and turned sideways to face him. Like this then? “Remember to use proper oil.” he muttered, draping an arm over Haytham's hip to brace himself and leaned forward, lowering his head to press lips against the tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum around with his tongue. Bleh, still bitter. No matter though, it wasn't anything he wasn't used to by now.

He remained on his knees, slightly spread apart to help maintain his balance as he slid his other arm around Haytham's back. His last blow job had been the night before they left for London, already two weeks ago. He wasn't rusty or anything but a bit... stiff perhaps. Still, this was familiar territory; Connor knew his father's cock almost as well as he knew his own, perhaps even better than Haytham did, he could trace every vein and locate every sensitive spot even with his eyes closed, and Connor made good use of his knowledge as he slowly began to work the erection into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and hollowing his cheeks. Fuck slow, slow was for pussies.

-=-=-=-

Breath hitching, Haytham watched Connor assume the somewhat awkward position, laying on his side, tongue flicking over the slit of his head and teasing. Every touch magnified, he took just a moment to watch lips part, making way for his cock, stretching obscenely. God those lips, that tongue... all of him. A needy sigh left him, and he watched Connor's head bob a few times before reaching the small bottle he had placed on the night stand while waiting for the lad...

It was noticeably emptier, almost slimy, and it didn't take long to realize the bottle had a small puncture, probably received on the trip over.

There was enough in it to coat his cock, but not much else. A sigh of frustration left him, followed by a small groan, Connors mouth working wonders. He wouldn't think twice of inserting a few fingers without oil into any other person, and a very large part of him attempted to convince him that Connor wouldn't mind; just watching how enthusiastically he slurped his way up his cock, hand and head working in a building rhythm... it was almost enough.

"L-lad, I've... the bottle sprung a leak, you alright with spit while I do this?" For emphasis, he licked a finger, gingerly tracing a scar between tan cheeks, grazing the puckered, undoubtedly tight entrance. He'd no intention of causing unnecessary discomfort...

-=-=-=-

Connor paused halfway down Haytham's cock and frowned. What? Spit? Uh, welllll... He slowly pulled up, allowing the erection to slip from his mouth with a wet pop and turned his head to look at his father. The string of saliva and pre-cum that connected his lips with the head broke with the movement, his lips wet and shining with it, but he was oblivious to that little fact as he followed the path of a finger reaching out until it left his vision, and touched him seconds later, drawing a small gasp from him.

Spit... they hadn't done it with _just_ spit since _before..._ Connor swallowed thickly and closed his eyes for moment, clearly struggling to make a decision. The first time he had attempted anal again after the Pits, he had made it _very_ clear that he no longer wanted to do this with just saliva and nothing else to ease the way. It was oil, or nothing at all. His ass hadn't seen any action a month, he was going to be tighter then usual to begin with.

And now there wasn't any oil left and his father was asking him to... to...

For a second he even contemplated to say no, but he had waited so long already. He wanted this, he _needed_ this, they both did... and... he used to be able to take it with just spit. Right? That had been Haytham's preferred method before... _everything_ and he'd dealt with it. It hurt, but not horribly and it was fine, no great even, after wards.

And it could still be that way. The Pits... _Cutter_ hadn't changed anything about that. As long as Haytham was careful, which he would be, he could take it... It was either this, or nothing at all. Just this once.

His eyes were on the hard cock in front of him as he stiffly nodded; he could at least wet this up on his own. Everything else, he'd just have to suck up and accept. “Though... if you have any ideas to make this easier, please share, okay?” Call him whiny, but every little bit helped.

-=-=-=-

It was so evident how uncomfortable this made his lad. The stiff nod after contemplation was hardly what Haytham would call a desirable circumstance. He'd planned something passionate, only to have it back fire completely.

Frustrating as it was, he'd not let the night end on such a note, thoroughly coating the one finger in saliva. Eyes kept on Connors face, his index finger circled once, twice, dipping in a third time, steadily. He almost gasped, head against the head board; warm, unbelievably hot, and so _tight._ It had been far too long, weeks since they'd last had thorough intimacy, and it was shown by how muscles held him, caressing. It was with some force that he opened his eyes again, grey focused on the face before him.

And he found discomfort.

Not pain, but there was a clear sign of something uncomfortable, the lad shifting and attempting to carry out his ministrations. Moving his fingers, twisting it about did little. This wasn't about hitting his prostate, nor pain. It was the discomfort a memory could bring.

And he knew how damaging that could be.

But to end their night on such a note; his erection ached, mind reeling. Running into someone while seeking oil would be likely, an explanation unseen. Yet continuing in such a manner was no option. Neither was dousing his cock with oil and handling his lad sans prep. Removing the finger, Haytham shut his eyes for a moment, before mulling an idea over. It would certainly be new for both of them... and would undoubtedly ease the boy somewhat. Simply, he hadn't done such before, though the act seemed simple enough...

Oh to hell with it, the lad bathed with him often enough for Haytham to know he was thoroughly clean.

"Change in plans." A pat on the pert cheeks, and Haytham cleared his throat, shifting away from Connor. "If you'd oblige me in moving... yes, perfect." A pillow placed behind his head, Haytham pat his chest, meeting confused eyes. Well he'd never been one for long explanations, but he'd try.

"I require the presence of your supple end here," Haytham pat his chest before motioning to his notably hard erection, "… and your head about there, so I may use a certain organ to thoroughly prepare you for my entry."

A moment of silence shared, Haytham face palmed, adding. "Your buttocks, my face, Now. Get to it, chop, chop, I haven't all evening."

-=-=-=-

Eyes squeezed shut and Connor dropped his head, resting it against Haytham's stomach as one finger slowly entered him. It didn't hurt, not really but it was... it was... _uncomfortable._ Haytham seemed to notice it as well, and the finger pulled out again after barely a few seconds. Oh man he really did not want to stop this and turn this into another hand slash blow job thing and nothing more.   
He'd been so looking forward to this, and so had his father... and now he was being an absolute bonekiller simply because he couldn't handle spit for lube anymore?

Connor said nothing as he sat up, clenching hands into fists as Haytham slithered down the sheets until he was flat on his back... and patted his chest.

Wait, say what now? Eyes widening he could only stare at his father with a look of surprise and disbelief on his features. He wanted him to... sit _where_ exactly?! As in... in a... but he didn't even give blow jobs! Why would he want to-

“Wait, are you serious?” Holy shit he was! Well then... Swallowing thickly Connor cleared his throat and nodded before shifting, careful not to accidentally kick Haytham in the head with his foot as he slung his leg over him and sat down.

Oh, his face was _burning._ Of course he'd been in a myriad of different positions with his father and he really had nothing Haytham had never seen before, but this position... this was completely and utterly _new_ to him, and that made it embarrassing, even more so as he leaned forward to focus his attention on his cock again. Not that he was very successful at that, even as he curled fingers around the base and pressed kisses against the head. He didn't quite dare to take him into his mouth again; he had never been on the receiving end of a rim job before, he had no idea what it would feel like and Haytham would _not_ appreciate teeth on his dick in case he couldn't control himself.

-=-=-=-

Well, this was new. Laying still, Connor settled against him, the view- while certainly not unfamiliar- a bit closer then usual. Moist kisses placed upon the tip of him soothed what was anxiety, Haytham exhaling, examining the scars that lay across his lads backside. Not numerous, but a few, from the incision made for drainage to the other scars from Cutter. In afterthought they were perhaps not the most erotic of thoughts, yet it did nothing to his arousal. They were just as much part of the lad as anything.

He was dawdling, he knew it. Still he took his time, visually marking paths before running the very tips of his fingers over the small, puckered entrance, scar tissue raised in some areas, the once angry red a dull pink. In the back of his mind something reminded him that he had never done this before, and could very likely do a poor job. The rest of him simply did not care.

He'd endure. And he did with the first, tentative, almost shy lick. No more then a skirting of tongue, from the end on his taint and upward, a wet trail painted over the crack and hole itself. He traced two scars before using the flat of his tongue, his touch still tentative, soft. A hand grabbed a hip before him, Haytham's eyes fluttering shut at the press of cheeks to his face. Each lap remained languid, slow, and he tested each boundary, alternating between small traces and firmer licks over scars, over the ring of muscle.

A flush gathered at his face, lips pressing a kiss to Connor's exposed entrance, each buttock kissed individually before he continued, with just as much trepidation as before. He could only wonder how he was fairing, parting briefly, saliva connecting his lower lips to Connor's anatomy. "Good?" It sounded far more timid then he meant it too, but it could not be helped. Even he wished to impress from time to time.

-=-=-=-

It was almost by a miracle that Connor managed to stay silent at the first tentative flick of a tongue, slowly trailing a wet path up. A soft gasp and nothing more as he buried his face in the crook of his father's cock and thigh.  
Within seconds though he already becoming louder, stifling soft moans and cries against Haytham's skin, fingers curling tighter around him as his eyes squeezed shut.

He had nothing to compare this too. It was... similar to a blow job, yet way different, shooting small sparks of pleasure up his spine. Hot breath ghosted over the wet skin and his thighs already began trembling in the effort of holding him up; the hand on his hip was much appreciated, but it remained a struggle not to flop down on his father's face.

It wasn't even much yet, soft kisses and licks with just the tip of his tongue over his quivering entrance, but it was _incredible!_ Connor was vaguely aware that he was supposed to return the favor by continuing the blow job but his thoughts were running amok all over the place, focus completely shattered; all he could do was hold his father's erection in a tight grip and muffle his groans and soft curses of “oh fuck” against the hot, sensitive skin of his cock, his lips pressed against the base.

It wasn't a blow job but it came pretty damn close and for a second he wondered what had prompted the man, who was so opposed to giving oral stimulation, to even do this! Seconds later, Connor found he simply did not care _why,_ as long as he didn't stop!

Therefor his answer at the timid question if it was good for him, was met with a desperate groan and a buck of his hips pushing towards his face, legs spreading wider over the sheets. “Y-yes yes, it's good! Keep g-going!”

-=-=-=-

Oh whoops! Barely missing the rutting, Haytham rubbed his nose for a moment, blinking. The sounds coming from the lad where a mantra of desperate whimpers and shallow gasps. He was hardly touched, his own cock against his belly, Connor seemingly incapable of doing much else save for holding him.

Another small, tentative lick up a scar had the boy shaking, breath tickling his thigh. Was it truly... surely he was exaggerating, it was not that pleasurable.

… Right?

He'd never experienced such, unaccustomed and unwilling to yield to someone in such a way. The very thought heated his cheeks, and he brushed it away will a more confident lick, very keen on listening to the noises Connor made. A symphony of pleasured groans and trembling thighs, the sounds of a higher pitch then he was accustomed, long, continuous, so melodic.

He quite enjoyed them, the flat of his tongue swiping a bolder strip, from what he supposed may be considered taint to over his ass, lips pressing a kiss again, before mouthing over the puckered flesh with an intimacy reserved for a lovers mouth. Soft strokes of the tongue turned rapid, bolder. Unknowingly he rolled his own hips, groaning lightly, deep in his throat. It tasted as the rest of him did, but he simply had difficulty inserting his tongue.

Saliva pooled around his lips, down his chin in a line as he sucked, lapping again at everything within view, reserving small flicks for scars. Rock hard, his own cock dripped, and it took him a moment to realize he was salivating to the taste and noises that composed his lad.

Sucking at his own finger, he was certainly wet enough now, the very tip tracing before dipping into the first muscle, Haytham unable to prevent the groan. Watching him expand, feeling and seeing muscles tighten. He could take no more, tight muscle pulling him inward, Haytham lapping at Connors taint before his own hand traveled between his legs.

He hissed as he grabbed his cock, working it with the same rhythm he used to stretch Connor. The bed thankfully did not creak, Haytham inserting the second finger and licking around the stretched opening, fist working faster at the noises Connor made. Even the touch of his own hand felt unbearably good, a moan leaving him laced with his son's name. "Enjoying yourself lad?" He could hear the smirk in his own voice.

-=-=-=-

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuuuuuuuuck.

Connor could do nothing but sit there and take it, and this time when the finger carefully pushed its way into his body again there was no discomfort, just the eager clenching of wet muscle gripping the digit to pull it deeper.

Even more surprising was the hand that suddenly appeared into his view; he could only watch as it curled around rigid flesh and began stroking, continuing what he didn't have the attention span for. A second finger pushed inside just when a drop of pearly white dribbled down the side of Haytham's cock and smeared over his fingers. His head dropped, pressing against his father's thigh again as the pressure grew within him; each roll of his hips against the fingers caused his own genitalia to wetly slide over his father's chest, trapped between it and his own stomach. Haytham's moans were causing delicious vibrations, just as his own provided, his lips so close to his father's erection, but it was when he spoke that Connor snapped.

He could take no more!

“T-take 'm out!” Sitting up on trembling legs he reached behind him, awkwardly fumbling around until his fingers closed around Haytham's wrist and tugged. “Out!”  
He didn't have time to explain; Haytham did as he told and immediately Connor removed himself from him only to turn around again; he had about a second to note the confused expression on Haytham's handsome, flushed face before he dived forward and captured the older man's lips with his own. Lips parted, and he could taste himself on his father's tongue, a strange taste that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, just weird. His whole body tingled as he shifted and squirmed, grinding his ass down on him and feeling the cock slide between his cheeks. The head caught onto the slightly stretched entrance but did not slip in, and his disappointed moan was swallowed in the kiss.

Pulling back Connor stared down at his father, face flushed and his pupils blown wide, nearly swallowing up the brown of his eyes. He'd had enough! “D-do it! Just fuck me already!” He wasn't usually this desperate, but he had waited long enough. His whole body thrummed with need, shaking and shivering. He didn't care how they did it, with him on his back, spooning, on all fours or riding him even. He didn't care, he just needed it _now._ He'd make this the best fuck his father had ever had!

-=-=-=-

He'd been careful. A blink and he fumbled in slight surprise as Connor caught his hand and pulled desperately. Perhaps he'd managed to scratch him, perhaps the memory was far too great. Confusion clouded grey eyes, Haytham blinking, genuinely apologetic as he opened his mouth. "Con-"

Only to have it filled with a passionate tongue, tasting nipping... hips rocked and rotated over his prick, trapped between two cheeks. He could but moan, stunned, temporarily immobile as Connor parted, saliva connecting their lips. Stunned grey met eyes, skin prickling. Such an intense gaze. He reached for the oil silently, almost fumbling, eyes locked on dilated ones, on that handsome, feral face, desperate for him. His ego swelled further, hand liberally coating himself, hiss leaving parted lips before he lined them up. He could count the scant freckles, could see the small scar on the side of his cheek, the strong jaw.

For no particular reason, he whispered, sitting up further, holding his cock to Connor's willing body. Peering between their bodies to view the tight ring stretch had always been a favorite passed time when in such positions. Yet his eyes could not leave his face, as the words left him.

"You're too handsome for your own good, Connor." Without hesitance he pulled the lad in for a kiss, teeth and lounge playing along full lips as he dared to push his slickened erection in, hissing through clenched teeth.

Tight muscle, surrounding him, velvety soft and pulling him in. Every inch of him caressed, Haytham's hands on hips, stilling, guiding; Connor may be enthusiastic but he was far from small and it had been sometime. Still he was swallowed with vigor, hips hitting strong thighs. Grey eyes shut momentarily, hips doing little but rocking. Teeth nipped the strong neck before him, careful to not leave lingering bruises. His shoulder would be fair game though...

Eyes opened to stare into brown. A beat skipped, his breath caught, just for a moment. Shaking it off, Haytham cleared his throat, paying attention to the erratic heart beat pounding away. "I'll let you set the pace..."

-=-=-=-

Hands on his hips.

_Yes yes yes, do it do it do it!_

He was pressing against him, holding himself there as he tried to push his hips down to no avail. He shouldn't be hasty, he knew better than that, but he wanted this so badly. Connor did not have time to reply to the confession – being called handsome only did good things to one's ego – before he was finally allowed to move, his groan muffled by the kiss.

It was slow going, a slow penetration, his father taking his sweet time. He knew him so well, keeping his grip on his hips tight enough Connor was sure he would be wearing bruises in the morning. No matter, he'd wear them proudly, but even as he whined at the slow pace, Haytham would not speed up. Muscles parted slowly, a light burn accompanying the penetration but it wasn't anything that would really bother him; he was already too far gone to care.

Finally, after what felt like minutes, he felt the press of hips against his buttocks and slowly released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Haytham's cock was a heavy weight in his gut, hot and throbbing, and the tight grip on his hips lessened. Connor searched his father's face for affirmation that it was okay for him to move, getting it with a throaty whisper.

Nodding Connor bit his lower lip and braced his hands against the bed, before tentatively rolling his hips; the cock in him shifted but... it wasn't enough. The angle wasn't right. Frustrated he tried again, a combination of rolling his lips as he pulled up and sank down again, but again his prostate continued to be avoided. Haytham liked what he was doing well enough, that was clear from the soft, barely audible noises he made, but seeing as he had never actually ridden his father before like this, it was a chore to get the angle right. 

As the saying went, the third time was a charm as Connor plunged down a third time from a greater height and the head of Haytham's cock finally brushed into the bundle of nerves that caused such amazing pleasure within his body. The cry that spewed from his lips was louder than he would have liked and he quickly clapped his palm over his mouth to muffle it. His eyes squeezed shut as he began to bounce up and down, stars exploding behind his eyelids as the pressure mounted and the pleasure grew. His arm was shaking with the effort of holding his weight up, his shoulder beginning to hurt but he couldn't even _think_ about stopping now!

He desperately needed something to bite into though, to muffle his increasingly needier groans and cries for more. Like a pillow! A pillow was good!

“C... can we- nngh fuck yes! … roll o-over? Pl-please?”

-=-=-=-

Small groans, repetitive and deep, leaving him continuously. How long had it been? The thought only echoed as hips maneuvered, positioning and repositioning themselves, velvety muscles beyond enticing in their allure. A bead of sweat trickled from his temple, the fight to stay still arduous. Let Connor find a position that suited him. It was about the lad tonight, that's what he'd planned and stuck to.

Interesting how the position sought allowed him to bounce upon him, muscles clenching rhythmically. Damn him and his ability to do such effortlessly, it had taken weeks for Haytham to lift his own legs that high, and here he was treated as a damn trampoline.

It was unbearably _sexy._

But of course it would not last, though he hardly blamed the lad. He trembled so, a leave in tumultuous winds. They were close already weren't they, such stimulation far from foreign but desperately needed. Still his desire to watch the face before him contort was unbearable. Perhaps it was his own vanity, the power and egotistical need to see what he could do to someone he found unbearably fetching.

Whatever the reason, he did forgive the lad his weakness, silent but grabbing hips and flipping them over, Haytham between spread legs and Connor's back flush against the bed, hair fanned out before him. The flutter returned, and was shaken away, a smirk appearing on Haytham's features before he bent the lad in two, each knee placed over his shoulder before he drove in again, with nothing more then a grin for warning.

He shouldn't tease him, should he? And yet the flushed. Face and parted lips before him inclined him to do such, pulling out slowly, rotating his hips teasingly. It hardly took long, a few thrusts and he bumped his prostate again, and when he did find it, he would not stop utilizing it, teasing, with the head of his cock, pulling out halfway and repeating the action. Frustration could be seen on flustered features, Haytham snickering out right, playful bending to lick a strip up Connors neck. "Something you'd like to say, lad?"

-=-=-=-

The room whirled around and Connor found himself flat on his back with his father looming over him, complete with smirk. He couldn't even say anything as his knees were hooked over broad shoulder, whimpering as it folded his body in two – he'd be cumming on his own face bent like this.

He wouldn't particularly mind.

Connor reached for a pillow the second Haytham began moving again and yanked it over, biting into it hard to muffle his cries. Yes yes yes! The angle was much better like this and he hooked his ankles behind Haytham back. The new position allowed his father to drive in deeper, to fuck him harder... only he didn't.

A frustrated whine left him and his eyes snapped open, only to stare at a mop of pepper-colored hair, followed by the wet slide of a tongue licking a stripe up his neck. Oh that little shit, he was so not in the mood for teasing right now!

Connor bucked his hips, trying to force the other man to thrust harder and the heels of his feet dug into his back. “Stop fucking t-teasing me!” he snapped, baring his teeth and let go of the pillow in favor of raking his nails down Haytham's shoulders, scratching red lines into his skin. Oh come on! Just fuck him already!

Another buck and Connor squirmed around in the limited space he had, trapped in place as he was, and his frustrated expression turned desperate again; he was achingly hard to the point it almost hurt, the head red, nearly purple, a drop of pre-cum falling down to land on his chest. Turning his head he snarled into Haytham's ear before it faded into a whimper. Come on, please! “Don't tease, I've w-waited so long for this. I n-need this dad! Come on!”

Another buck of his hips and Connor's head fell back onto the pillow, tears of frustration beginning to gather in his eyes. “Please come on, fuck me!”

-=-=-=-

Words that drifted into his ears and left him smiling. Frustrated, desperate and needy, the beg would more than suffice, Haytham pressing lips to Connors in a chaste peck. He'd have welts all over his back, and the lad crescent bruises among his hips. Good.

He didn't need to explain, nor did he wish to. Nails slid across slickened hips, perspiration amongst the both of them. Muscles rippled as he pulled back, almost completely outward, Haytham letting out a sigh.

"Bite the pillow, lad."

Withing seconds he was buried deep inside his son, only to retract and repeat the action, too far gone to care. Brutal, unorganized, erratic- he didn't hit the prostate but rammed into it, thrusts hard enough to make Connor slide somewhat, grip on hips tightening as he grit his teeth.

The sound of slick flesh meeting filled the room. Haytham's hips slapping both buttocks and thighs. Arms braced themselves, a growl leaving him; harder, deeper, faster. His world had shrunk to this and Connors muffled groans and whimpers.

Strands of hair loosened, sticking to his face as he pummeled the man, ruthless. It would not be long, not with the body beneath him so wanton, rocking against him. He'd touch the lad more directly but to do so would be to ease up on his thrusts. Even a moment of that would not do, not as the heat began to pool in his groin, a delicious warmth beginning to spread. He could only imagine the excuse Connor would have in the morning, walking with a limp. Thankfully such was not his problem.

-=-=-=-

He didn't have to be told twice. Connor grabbed the pillow and sank his teeth into it, holding a mouth full of the fabric as Haytham pulled out of him... and rammed down.

The pillow worked, muffling his scream like it was supposed to, but Connor still feared they'd be able to hear him in the hallway should someone walk past their room. But as Haytham began a fast, nearly brutal pace his worries swiftly disappeared and all that was left was him holding on for dear life as the other man tried his best to fuck him straight through the mattress.

His skull thunked with the headboard of the bed but Connor was too far gone too notice. He could barely even roll his hips back to meet his thrusts, he was going _that_ fast.

Pressure built, rushing towards him and threatening to drown him in it; the constant pummeling of his prostate was almost too much to handle. He was starting to feel overwhelmed and there was _nothing_ he could do to stop it, nor did he want to.

Orgasm crashed into him, stringy ropes of white cum spurting from his cock to land on the pillow he was still using to smother his face with. All control was lost; limbs flailing and hips bucking as his body drastically clamped down on his father's cock still moving inside of him. Haytham's name was on his lips as he came, but the pillow swallowed it up completely and turned it into loud, desperate muffled garbles of ecstasy. It was almost _too much, too powerful_ and with the last splatter of cum dripping onto his forehead, his body still uncontrollably shaking in the aftermath of his orgasm, Connor faintly realized that he had never cum before from prostate stimulation alone, without even needing _one touch to his cock._

It had definitely been worth it, even if Haytham was still ruthlessly driving himself into his spent body.

-=-=-=-

Unbearably tight, muscles seized and clamped around him, the garbled words indiscernible as cum splattered against the pillow and onto dark skin alike. His own body tensed, spasming rapidly, erratic, unstable thrusts rocking the body beneath him. Close, so close... twitching muscles were coaxing him, Connor loosening as after glow clearly hit. Its approach was rapid, a monsoon closing in, and Haytham grit his teeth searching desperately for a moment.

It would do... face buried into the crook of shoulder and neck, a drawn out, loud groan was muffled through tan flesh. Teeth bit and clung, indentation giving way to the tang of copper, and he knew in the back of his mind that it hurt. Just as he knew Connor could handle it.

Tensing from head to toe, spasm after spasm filled him, completion reached with a final deep thrust. Hips stilled as his cock spurted, thick ropes deep inside the lad, Haytham's teeth still pressed into the junction for a moment after he was done.

It was an effort to avoid flopping bonelessly. Shaky legs and arms lifted themselves, only to give up, Haytham resting his head along the sweaty chest beneath him after disentangling legs from his shoulders. Exiting with a small pop, he almost fell forward, overly sensitive and out of breath, laying over the lad's thumping heart and exhaling shakily.

Several moment of silence passed, his heart beat slowing somewhat, Haytham resting his chin on the dip of Connor's chest. He hadn't the strength to move his own hair from his face, long strands freed and about Connor's chest. He should cut it, really...

Thoughts aside, he offered Connor a smile, more then content to lay there, feet dangling off the bed. He'd never been more comfortable, and he wiggled his eyebrows, shaky hand tapping Connor's nose.

"So, was it good for you?" His smile could not wane if prompted.

-=-=-=-

Connor knew it was coming seconds before it happened, seeing the signs in his father, his expression and the way he began to loose his rhythm. The teeth stung, drawing a pained hiss from him and he prayed that he'd be able to hide the marks they would leave behind as hot, sticky liquid filled him. He squirmed his hips; ugh, still such a weird feeling. He'd be dripping all over the bed later.

He chuckled softly at his father's exhausted expression, how he was unable to even lift himself. Hehe, old age was catching up with him. Granted, he was feeling pretty worn out himself; he had been full of eager energy before but now he wanted nothing more than to stretch out over the damp sheets, cuddle up to his father and _sleep._

His breathing was still fast when Haytham settled over him, allowing him finally, _slowly_ lower his legs with a wince. The sweat was cooling on his skin, as was the air around them, but his limbs felt too much like they were weighed down with lead for him to grab the blankets, and with the way Haytham lay sprawled out of him, with his head resting on his slowly rising and falling chest, it didn't look like he'd be up for grabbing the blankets either.

Heh, it was always a nice feeling to know he had worn his father out. Connor couldn't quite bite back the smile tugging at his lips as he reached out and carefully brushed strands of pepper-colored hair out of Haytham's sweaty, flushed face.

“Good?” Scrunching his nose Connor quickly stuck out his tongue and flicked at the finger before it could retreat. “I think the answer his obvious.” It hadn't been good, it had been _great._ Exactly what he had needed. He was so relaxed now, all the tension had been fucked straight out of his system. What more could he ask for?

“I'm curious though...” he muttered as he slung an arm around his father's shoulders. “What made you decide to go ahead with a rim job of all things? Not that I didn't like it, but you have this aversion for giving blow jobs and everything and... well, you surprised me with it.” Pleasantly.

-=-=-=-

"Mmm?" Oh yes. That. Flicked finger aside, Haytham exhaled long and slow. "Here I thought it would be obvious. You were uncomfortable, and I'd no other option if we were to have coitus. Obviously fetching more oil could not be expected and I'm sure we equally lusted one another." An unromantic answer, but an honest one. What was he to say, that Connor magically changed his mind due to the ever increasing feelings of fondness? He avoided snorting at the thought just barely. No. He did not operate in such a manner.

He did however add, without hesitation, "… though admittedly it was of greater enjoyment then previously anticipated and may- MAY lad- be replicated in the future should it need be or if I'm feeling adventurous." Or horribly turned on. Or in a good mood... bah he didn't reason. Whenever he damn well felt like it was a response appropriate enough.

He still lay on top his son, unmoving, peering into eyes for a moment before tapping his nose again, watching it scrunch up. He moved, fetching the blanket sprawled half off the bed before laying down once more. And again his finger tapped Connor's nose, lips twitching. It was with adverted eyes that he said it, spreading the covers over both of them before laying on his side, facing Connor. "… You're..." he waved his hand, grey eyes narrowed, almost suspicious, before tapping his nose again, chuckling. "I never thought I'd say this but that is horridly cute, lad." Wincing, the word left his tongue with a sting, Haytham settling to spoon his son's side, yawning. "I may need to repeat the action if the response is to be so pleasing."

-=-=-=-

Oh. 

Well okay then. That was a good a reason as any! “I wish you'd stop calling it 'coitus' though. That makes it sound so... so...” Old fashioned? Weird? “I know you like to be a classy bastard around people, but just call it a fuck next ti-”

A tap on his nose and Connor scrunched it, staring down with a frown as Haytham fetched a blanket. Another tap and this time he reached up to rub his nose. What the hell... why was he doing that? “Would you stop doing tha- Dad!”

Blushing Connor quickly turned and buried his face in his father's hair with a snort. Cute? No he wasn't cute! He wasn't supposed to be cute, he was supposed to be manly and sexy! “You're an asshole...” he muttered but there was no bite behind the words as he relaxed and wrapped both arms around Haytham, closing his eyes, comfortable under the blanket. Well... he supposed he could be cute for him... only him.

~*~

The next morning was as Connor had feared; while not as bad as it could have been, he was sore and he wasn't quite able to hide the limp in his step. A hot shower helped somewhat, but he was still walking a little awkwardly when he and Haytham left the master bedroom, freshly showered and dressed, on their way to the kitchen for breakfast.

The others were already there, seated at the large table; Malik's nose was in his book again, Altair had his feet on the table, balancing his chair on two legs, and Ezio and Leonardo quietly conversed when they entered.

“Ah, good morning!” Leonardo pointed at the coffee maker. “There is still some left if you want some. You two felt like sleeping in no? How are you feeling, Connor? Better?”

He stiffly nodded and shuffled over to the nearest empty chair before anyone could ask him even more questions. Ezio was eying him, but he promptly ignored it and sat down, keeping his face straight as a small spark of pain flashed up his spine.

“Fell out of bed?” Ezio asked with a teasing undertone in his voice, but Connor just grumbled. Hm. Odd. Fell out of the wrong side of the bed, clearly! Or... was it something else? Nah, that was impossible; Haytham and Connor were close but not _that_ close. Didn't matter, now that they were finally all present he could finally say what he wanted to say. Clearing his throat he pushed his chair back and stood up, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder. “Guys, can I get everyone's attention for a moment, grazie.”

Malik looked up from his book and behind him he could feel Haytham's eyes on him as well. 

“Remember what Haytham said yesterday, about us needing animal based code names for when we're out in the field? I've been thinking about that!”

“Oh god, this should be rich.” Altair muttered and laced his fingers together behind his head, a bored look on his face. Ezio ignored him and tapped his own chest. “I will take Eagle-”

Altair's chair legs came down onto the floor with a bang as he flopped forward. “Oh no wait!” he called out. “No! If we're going with bird names, then I should be Eagle. My name means eagle.”

“So does mine, smart ass.”

“Maybe, but I'm older.”

“I came up with it first.”

“Guys, please...” Leonardo cut in and raised his hands, looking both men in the eye before he sighed. “If anyone should take the name Eagle it should be Haytham. Not only does his name mean 'young eagle', he's also our leader.”

Ezio turned around in his chair and raised his chin, staring down his nose at their fearless leader. “But he's olllllllld.” He avoided the rolled up magazine Altair threw at him with a hearty chuckle and raised his hands in defense. ”Okay okay! Haytham can be Eagle, I'm cool with that.”

Altair nodded as well, after a moment of hesitation; it made sense, it really did... he would have liked the name for himself but yes... Haytham could have it.

“Now, Malik.” Ezio turned to him and Malik looked up from his book to stare at him. “I had Hawk in mind for you. I dunno, it seems to fit. What do you think?”

Malik just shrugged and focused on his book again. “Fine with me, I don't really care.” The flat answer did nothing to quench Ezio's enthusiasm as he turned to Leonardo.

“Yours is easy! You should be Lion!”

“Meow!”

“And you.”

Connor tensed as the young Italian turned to him with a smirk on his face. Oh god, now he was going to hear it- “You can be our big bad Wolf.”

… oh. Well that wasn't so bad! Yeah! “Wolf is good. Do I get to howl at the moon every time I kill someone?”

“Do it. Now that just leaves Altair and me...” A silence fell over the kitchen, broken only by the sound of the percolator, Altair rubbing his morning scruff in thought until Leonardo suddenly sat up straight with a gasp, a glint in his blue eyes. “I think I have something. Altair, you can beeeeee...” Fishing his phone out of his pocket he took a moment to google a photo of the animal in question and turned it around to show it him. “Osprey!”

Curious Connor and Ezio stood up and walked around the table to look at the small screen as well, showing a picture of a large bird in flight, white with black accents on the wings, tail and around the amber-colored eyes.

“Oooooh, that really does fit.”

Malik stood up as well to take a peek at the screen, humming softly in agreement. Altair bit his lip, staring at the photo and sighed. It did fit, he had to give them that. And it was still a big bird with a sharp beak and claws and stuff even if it wasn't quite as awesome and badass as an eagle, so... “Fine. I'll take Osprey.”

“Awesome! Now that leaves me!” Sitting down again Ezio tapped the table top with his fingers, brows scrunching together as he thought before he suddenly slammed his fist down on the table hard enough the others jumped. “I know! I'll take Falcon!”

“Why falcon?” Malik asked without looking up, his nose back in his book.

“Easy, so I can do this.” Turning Ezio curled his hand into a fist and Connor tensed, eying him warily until- “Falcon punch of bene!”

Leonardo burst out in laughter as Connor rubbed his now sore shoulder, Altair smirking at him before they all turned to look at Haytham. They still needed his approval on the matter.

-=-=-=-

It was an effort, to avoid snorting coffee at Leonardo's excited 'meow'. Well, well, they were running with the nicknames weren't they? All eyes turned to him, Haytham sipping at his coffee. Under other circumstances he'd be inclined to be stern, but the last days had been very fair. If anything he felt rather invigorated. "I see no reason to say no."

"Then it's settled!" With a happy fist slam, their names had been established. And it was not the only thing they needed to decide, Haytham clearing his throat, hands folded across the table, head resting on them. "That brings me to another issue-" Interrupted by a grumbling stomach, lips twitched upward before he retreated to fetch a few things from the fridge. "Pancakes with blueberries or chocolate chips in them?"

"Chocolate, why is that even a question?"

"Blueberry. Please."

"Mm. Doesn't matter."

"I think I have a splinter. Also do we have strawberries?"

… Right. He'd just make both then. "No strawberries available, I'll make both, and weapons, gentlemen." Blueberries added to one bowl and chocolate chips to the other, he retrieved an extra cup of coffee, a skip practically in his step. "I do hope you've thought as thoroughly on the matter. We've a trip to make this evening, to a particular area and I can not bring everyone. Having said that, we need give that utmost thought." 

He was not sullen, but he did turn to seriously eye each of them. "Sydney will be upon us soon. Preparation is crucial, for everyone’s safety." Which was a large concern, as their leader and, oddly enough to admit, a fatherly figure.

How strange, that this too seemed natural. As did the twitch of his lips.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have much to say about this chapter, other that both me and Girlsloveyaoi found this a challenging chapter to write for some reason. But hey, it's on schedule, so whatever. XD
> 
> Warnings for graphic violence, prostitution, mentions of rape and references to drug use.

So thankful was he to have planned a full two days rest before making the trip to Sydney. With a stop in Bangkok, the winds hadn't favored them, the jet stream a horrid beast for the duration of the trip. the quickest flight- no matter the airline- would have been almost twenty-two hours in length, including their stop and need to re-board. Horridly enough, there was a delay.

Twenty-six hours. The plane touched down with a small jolt, Altair hardly rousing beside him, exhausted. It was as expected, the lad unaccustomed to long flights and jet lag; it was almost second nature by now, though he could hardly get over the fact that it was daylight. One in the morning in London, the others would surely be asleep. Even so, he shook Altair awake, sending a text to everyone:

_Landed safely. Poor jet stream delayed us. Sleep well._

Tucking his phone away, he pat the very groggy man beside him, who seemed intent on sleeping. It had been a difficult decision, but to bring all of them when only two or so were needed to scout out the area would draw too much attention. As their leader he was an obvious choice, just as Leonardo, Malik, Connor, and Ezio where the obvious four who need stay behind; Leonardo and Malik for very obvious reasons, Ezio because he had yet to see a den and was still inexperienced, and Connor because of, well, Bali.

He hadn't been thrilled with that, but after sometime he did understand that. That and Haytham did not wish to send him off alone into the very place that once held him captive, in case the situation called for that. It was the more emotional response, the one he saved for when they were alone and Connor agitated. It was far more understandable, thankfully, and he was able to leave with Altair without further complaint.

Luckily for them they need not need bring weaponry this time. All else was extensively wrapped in their suitcases, Haytham grabbing his overhead lap top case and rolling his eyes. "Altair, try to stay awake, yes?"

"Mmm, five more minutes."

"No."

"Pleeeease."

"No."

Amber eyes opened, a shrill jest of a voice exiting that that blasted cartoon with those cursing children with their gigantic animated heads. "But mooooooooooom- ow! Ow okay, okay!"

Haytham let go of the captive ear, tapping his watch, ignoring the looks they were attracting. He was used to the stares, although not entirely prepared for the swarm they received as they entered the airport.

"Mr. Kenway!" He masked the surprise as he rounded the corner. While still a successful figure, he figured abandoning- er, retiring- from his company would certainly aid to his own obscurity. At least ten reporters with their cameras flashed, Haytham more grateful then ever for leaving Connor home, and whispered into Altair's ear. "Chin up, look straight ahead, and don't say anything they could misconstrue, alright?"

-=-=-=-

Altair sputtered to himself and shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, yawning. It was way too early for this shit; any respectable human being would be _sleeping_ right now. Damn jet lag, damn air planes, damn Sydney-why-did-there-have-to-be-a-den-in-fucking-Sydney and not somewhere closer to home like... Scotland or somethin'? Or... or Ireland or hell, the Netherlands even. Taking the plane to Schiphol from London only took an hour! Crazy Dutchies with their legalization of soft drugs and prostitution and shit. That was the perfect place to hide a den! Right there in Amsterdam!

But noooooooooooo. Sydney! Sydney of all places, halfway across the fucking globe! Not that Bali had been a short trip, but it had been shorter than this!

… he just didn't do well traveling by plane.

Yawning for a second time Altair strolled after their fearless leader, rubbing his ear with a frown. Bleh, all he had asked for were five more minutes. There had been no need to yank his ear and treat him like an unruly child. He was a grown man dammit, and Haytham... Haytham was old!

He continued his grumbling as they walked, on their way to collect their baggage. Ah well, it wasn't like they weren't here for a good reason. Sydney. That was their only lead. Nothing else. There was a den, _somewhere_ in Sydney and it was their task to figure out the general location of it, as well as how to get in.

And how to get out again after wards, that would be a major plus. Honestly, he was a bit worried. This would be nothing like the one in Bali, where it really hadn't been much of a problem if the prisoners ran out of the den once freed, or if they made a lot of noise and gunfire. In the middle of the jungle, who would hear other than the creatures that lived there? Here though, that might be a huge problem... the last thing they needed was for the Australian police to get on their tails while they were in there. It was a huge concern, something they still all had to seriously talk about, but for now actually locating the den had priority. He hoped Haytham had a plan for that...

Rounding a corner, Altair had to stop for a second at the sight in front of them, staring at the dozen or so men flashing cameras in their faces as Haytham whispered in his ear. Whoa wait, what now? “Dafuq dude?” he hissed and swallowed thickly, teeth grit and lips pressed tight into a thin line. The reporters yelled questions at them, question Altair tried to block out; he was all too aware of how stiff he walked and how stupid his arms swayed back and fro. Haytham was used to this no doubt, but he wasn't!

“Can't you make them leave?” he hissed. “How did they even know we were coming?” Ooooh that could prove to be a huge problem later on...

-=-=-=-

"It's not complicated to figure out, I purchased tickets over the internet with my Visa. If they wanted to track me down badly enough they certainly could." And indeed they had, Haytham sparing Altair a raised eye brow. "And yes Altair, let me tell them to magically vanish. That will work. They followed me around after my fiance's funeral like there was nothing more interesting to do." And said quite a few rude comments, but he let such slide, flexing his fist. Be calm, Haytham, Altair was certainly incapable of such.

Hailing down a cap proved difficult enough with the press on ones heels, but it was the questions that proved most bizarre.

"Mr. Kenway, the company has been stable since Mr. Johnson took over. Are you satisfied with his work?"

"Mr. Kenway, how is your son doing? Why did you decide to abandon your company almost overnight?"

"Mr. Kenway, it seems that you're housing victims of mass tragedies. Did the events in Brazil profoundly impact you?"

"Mr. Kenway, who's the young man with you?" Attention turned to Altair, cameras flashing. "Is he a new lover?"

The cab pulled up, Hyatham opening the trunk, the tiniest of smirks on his features at Altair's discomfort. He'd been quite the little pain this trip, and was a pain the first time they'd met... he'd long since let such slide but the fact remained he never sought justice nor retribution. Shutting the trunk he turned to Altair, removing his sunglasses as the man stammered. "We are not-"

"Oh, darling, really?" A strong arm wrapped itself around him, pulling the stunned young man flush against his chest. "Cat's out of the bag now, honey." Hands rested comfortably on Altair's waist as Haytham addressed the press. "You know me, dark berries and the like. And I am an aged millionaire, one so young provides such..." A deep, rumbling chuckle, Haytham ignoring the steadily flashing cameras. "Well I call him _honey_ for more then just complexion reference." Licking his lips, Haytham's grip on the trembling man never faltered, grabbing his hand before opening the door for him.

"After you, _habibi."_

The look on Altair's face! He had to enter the other side of the cab to fight his own grin, sitting down on the opposite side and requesting the driver take them to their newly rented apartment in a horrid neighborhood. Ah, but they accepted cash, and anonymity was far more important then comfort.

Bringing their bags inside, Altair practically slammed the door shut, Haytham blinking innocently as he began unpacking. "We're even, for you being a sod when we first met. Now fetch the batteries, I wish to set up before we slumber."

-=-=-=-

Oh no, no no no no no!

Altair tried to hide his face in the shadow of his hoodie, which he knew had to be _burning,_ when the cameras turned to him. His lover? Balls no! “We are not-”

An arm wrapped around his waist and Altair went stiff like a broomstick, his face turning a very deep shade of red as the cameras flashed and nearly blinded him.  
He jumped into the cab as quickly as he could and hid his face in his arms, trying to ignore the reporters pressing themselves against the windows to catch a last glimpse of 'Haytham Kenway's new lover' and he couldn't be more grateful when the cab driver finally stepped on the gas.

He remained stubbornly silent throughout the trip, glad the driver didn't particularly seem to care about their destination as long as he got paid, and as soon as they arrived he jumped out and marched inside, leaving Haytham to deal with their baggage alone. Hah, served him right!

Unfortunately Haytham also had the key.

“You're a real asshole, you know that?” he hissed as he finally stepped inside and slammed the door shut, quickly taking in their temporary surroundings; mostly cleanish, but rather depressing looking with bleak wallpaper and non-fitting furniture. One quick glance in the one bedroom fortunately proved there to be two separate beds, thank god.

“That's going to be all over the news now! That's... that's...” Wildly waving his arms around to make his point he jabbed his finger in Haytham's chest, face still tinged red. “That's attention we do not need right now! I don't care if you were having fun putting on a show, but do not draw me into it.” Sputtering he stepped away again and stomped towards the one lone window in the room. He was embarrassed. And slightly insulted. He'd never had cameras shoved into his face like that and Haytham had treated it like a joke. He could have just ignored them! He should have.

Getting even, pfft. For what? For... for being in a bad mood that time they first met? While duh, considering what news they had come to bring, how could they have expected him to be in a good mood?

“Go fetch the damn batteries yourself, asshole.”

-=-=-=-

"Oh stop being melodramatic boy, no ones interested in the romantic life of a retired old man." He wouldn't get the batteries, setting up the latter equipment, sighing before ruffling his hair, despite his dodgy movement. "There's probably someone here of notable fame and I was simply in the same destination at a similar time. It won't even make the tabloids, and at worst I'll have William issue a statement. Now stop being a homophobe and focus, I touched your waist, not your taint." Grey eyes grew serious. "We've more pressing matters to consider attending."

That was for sure. Spending a moment to order them both take out, Haytham spent the time in between readying the small ear pieces, should they need separate for any reason. The hope was to search the area together; where as Bali had a jungle to offer- with it's biting insect and humidity- the likelihood of capture was certainly lessened. Sydney was large, industrial, full of citizens both day and night. Which meant large noises or escaping prisoners dashing into the streets could cause quite a bit of havoc. This was far more dangerous potentially, and with more lives at stake Haytham would take no chance.

~*~

Two days of rest had them that much more alert, outfits selected on darker color, making it easier to blend it. In Sydney... but where in Sydney? The last two dens where under ground, and certainly individuals being held captive would be seen if the entrance was in the heart of the city. The issue was the suburbs extended for miles, and it was likely each entrance was far more well hidden against the rugged terrain. Ear piece pressed to his head, they had split up; fourteen miles of circumference could take a very, very long time to search through, especially in the cover of the evening. Seedier neighborhoods were sought, but Haytham turned up nothing thus far, four hours and four miles of rigorous searching, both in and outside the rented car was proving difficult and fruitless. Perhaps he'd been wrong, maybe an abandoned building held an entrance and this was a waste? He'd hope not, pressing on his ear piece, calling to Altair.

"Have you any luck, Osprey? Over."

-=-=-=-

“No, nothing.”

Drumming his fingers on the wheel of the car Altair stifled a yawn and looked around again; parked in a rather seedy area on the outskirts of Sydney he did not feel particularly safe here, especially because he was unarmed. The doors of the car were locked, though he had seen some of the men that strolled around the street glance in his direction. Perhaps they thought he was a cop or something; earlier he had seen someone buy what had looked like a small package of drugs from someone else before quickly scurrying off, and ugh, there were prostitutes on every corner.

Speaking of prostitutes... his fingers tightened on the wheel as one of them sauntered over with swaying hips, knee high boots, fishnet stockings and a bikini top. Christ, wasn't she cold? It was way after dark.  
She stopped on his side of the car and leaned down, allowing him perfect view of her breast as she looked inside the car – damn he had the window down. Fortunately only halfway but she still curled her fingers, complete with ridiculously long, polished fingernails around the glass. 

“Hey baby, you lonely? Ten for a blow job, twenty-five for a fuck. Thirty-five if you want my ass.”

Gritting his teeth Altair took a deep breath and shook his head, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “Sorry, not interested.”

“Aw, you sure, honey?”

“Very sure, I'm married.”

She chuckled softly and tapped her nails against the glass. “I don't see a ring on you.”

… dammit.

“No foolin' me with that, honey. Are you waiting for someone? I could keep you company.” Winking at him, Altair looked at her heavily made-up face framed by long, dark red hair. She was young and certainly not ugly, perhaps not even in her twenties yet. He doubted she was here out of her own volition though and he couldn't help but feel bad for her. Still, there was nothing he could do to help her; hooking up with a prostitute was the last thing he wanted. 

“Sorry. I can't help you.” And he meant it. “Watch your fingers.” She pulled back as he rolled up the window, keeping his eyes in front of him as he fired up the engine and drove away from her, pressing the button on his earpiece. “Osprey here. We're getting nowhere like this, driving around aimlessly.” He glanced at the rear view mirror and saw the light of a far away street lamp shine down on dark red hair, and sighed. “I'd say we regroup at the apartment and come up with a new plan, over.”

What they needed was a contact, someone who could _tell_ them. But who? And where would they find one? And how to ensure said contact wouldn't betray their own location and purpose here?

-=-=-=-

An elongated sigh left him, though he did agree with the notion. There was nothing here, all that was occurring was a mounting sense of frustration. It had been foolish to hope they'd find a location so quickly. Kicking a rock he re-entered the Jeep, buckling up. "Agreed, Meet you there. Over and out."

It was amongst the furnished, dingy furniture and over black coffee that they talked, Haytham's fingers tapping against the surface of the rickety wood. "A contact is a valid plan." Truly is was, indubitably. The issue remained though..." But to convince a person living in fear that we can take down their greatest worry, to be able to promise them safety and have them _believe_ it... that is going to be a problem, a large on at that." It was one thing to promise safety and freedom, and another in entirety to have a person believe that.

And yet another hitch in the plan, what contact? How would one even find a contact? A lowly guard, an escaped prisoner... they'd be difficult to locate, and probably hostile at best. Still it was late to carry on, a new course of action developed. "The twilight hours, we'll search together. Perhaps we can catch someone coming or going in the cover of dwindling sun."

It was a chance they'd need take with so much on the line. They'd everything to loose.

~*~

On the second hour of their venture, Haytham switched spots, allowing Altair to drive around, slowly taking in the surroundings that differed only minutely from the cover of the evening. A seedy area indeed; johns, drug addicts, and the ever lovely sight of a man urinating on a corner. Fetching.

"And this is about where you were yesterday, was it lad?" A far livelier area than he'd come across, sunglasses and hoodies worn by almost everyone, obscuring identity. There was a good chance they'd come across someone here, or at least a better chance. Rolling down his window, Haytham had Altair stop, waiting to draw attention.

And that they did, of more then a few people, a particular prostitute approaching with a half cocked grin. Uhm, alright...?

"Hey sweetie, you think about that offer last night? And look, you even brought me a friend."

It took everything he had to appear less professional then normal and not blurt out 'I'm a homosexual, typically.' Not that she was unattractive, but rather he was... well... he knew the moment he spoke the word 'narc' would come to mind and certainly start trouble. He wouldn't mind that other normal circumstances but they needed the assistance.

Wordlessly he reached into his pocket, slowly, watching eyes carefully watch his own, hand going to her side. Before he pulled out a hundred, and gestured to the backseat. As she giddily did so Haytham offered Altair a look, mouthing. "You know her?"

-=-=-=-

Altair only offered a tiny nod with his head. He'd explain later. It was just fortunate that it was the same girl as of last night, that just might make this a tad bit easier.

“Where are we going?” she asked and Altair glanced in the rear view mirror, watching her on the back seat, wearing the same outfit (if it could be called such) as before, but her hair was in a braid now (for better holding, he thought with a shudder). 

“Somewhere more private.” he muttered as he rounded a corner. “I'd rather not have people walk by and peek inside for obvious reasons.”

The girl just shrugged and Altair looked in the mirror again. “Do you have a name?”

“My name is whatever you want to call me, honey.”

He had to fight not to grit his teeth. He wasn't interested in _this,_ the sexy talk, though he supposed he couldn't blame her. It wasn't like she knew any better. “Well, I don't know what to call you.” he muttered and spotted a nearly empty parking lot. Huh, might as well. “So I'd rather you tell me.”

“Scarlet.”

Altair fought to not roll his eyes. Ugh, how original; a redhead named Scarlet. “Not your real name, I presume.”

“No its not. Have you two boys figured out what you want? For a hundred there's a looooot...” she leaned forward and reached out, one hand on Haytham's shoulder, the other and Altair's and slowly pushed them down their chests. “... you can do with me.”

He could hear the eagerness in her voice and Altair quickly parked before the hand drifted _too_ low. Taking it he gently pushed it away from his stomach and pushed a button on the dashboard, followed by the telltale click of the doors locking.

Immediately Scarlet tensed and pulled away, pressing herself into her seat ones more. The playful look disappeared from her eyes and now she more resembled a frightened deer caught in the headlights of a car. Now he felt bad for scaring her, but they couldn't have her make a run for it before they could explain to her what they wanted. “Please, calm down-”

“Are you police?” she whispered, her voice shaking, and Altair quickly raised his hands in defense.

“No, we're not police, I promise. We... just have some questions we were hoping you'd be able to help us with. And we'll still pay you, I promise.”

His words did nothing to calm the girl down; she was trembling lightly and her wide open eyes kept flitting left and right looking for a way out, an escape. “Please,” she whispered, and this time there was no denying the frightened tone in her voice. ”Please let me go. You're going to get me into so much trouble.”

Closing his mouth Altair slowly turned his head to look at Haytham, careful not to make any sudden movements that would frighten the poor girl even more. Now what?

-=-=-=-

She was young, almost frightfully so. And obviously on more then a few substances, the dotted marking trailing up her arm said such. To take advantage of someone in such a state...

Perhaps it was being around children the same age, or the Pits, or a combination of all the lads he's taken care of and knowing what had occurred with them. This woman he didn't know trembling in the back seat of his rented car genuinely caused his gut to twist.

"Scarlet, look at me, dear. C'mon, it's all right." It was clearly anything but, her brown eyes misted, threatening to spill down over her heavily made face. And his face softened, without his own recognition as he reached into the glove compartment and extended his hand. She jumped. His frown only intensified, the tissue placed on her lap.

"Neither one of us wants to get you into trouble, with anyone. And I assure you I can pay you double for the day and then some if need be." It was a softness he wasn't familiar with, and he couldn't quite pin point why he was being so gentle with her. Only that his throat tightened with discomfort as she wiped her eyes, mascara smudging.

"I would so very much appreciate your cooperation." Another tissue was offered, and this time she hesitantly took it from his hand. It occurred to him she may be cold and frightened... and hungry...

"Scarlet, I'll make you a deal. We'll drop you off, same spot, in two hours. We wish to speak to you about an organization, but if you don't know information..." the door clicked, unlocking, and he could view Altair's shock, "… I'll let you leave now. But, if you have an inkling of what I'm speaking of, there's a hot meal, five hundred dollars, and some clothing in it for you." He held up his hands, voice soft.

"I've a son your age, and he's been hurt. By the looks of it, so have you. I am not going to hold you against your will, nor will I force information from you. Merely I wish to right the wrong as best I can, for people like you." It was with honestly that he spoke, hands in front of him. "All I want is vindication for all the victims, victims like you."

-=-=-=-

Well now, that was interesting... Altair watched Haytham in silence, one eyebrow arched up as he softly spoke to the frightened girl. He had no idea that Haytham, the tough business man that he was, could speak so... so... softly and comforting and... it was almost out of character! Very surprising!

It seemed the help though; Scarlet relaxed, even if it was only a little bit and while she eyed the unlocked doors with a look of almost longing, she stayed put... for now. Clearly she was struggling with making a decision, whether what Haytham promised was worth the risk of talking. She had said they could get her into trouble by talking to her.

“I...” she began and her lower lip trembled as she fingered the damp tissue. “I can't accept any clothes from you. I mean-” Altair couldn't help but notice how she began talking faster and quieter, her eyes flicking towards the door again, almost as if she was afraid she'd anger them or something. “A-all the money I earn goes directly to the boss. I... I don't get to keep any of it. If I show up with new clothes they-”

“Okay, we get it.” Raising his hand Altair bit his lip. He got it... they'd think she bought the clothes with money that wasn't 'hers' and she'd get in trouble. He couldn't have that on his conscience. But surely... a warm meal and some extra cash wouldn't hurt her?

“Are you willing to help?” he finally asked and looked up to look her in the eyes. “No one has to know, you can always pretend that we um... took you up on your services.” Clearing his throat he was aware his face flushed slightly but he kept his eyes locked on her and he could see the flicker of hope in them.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, she offered a tiny nod, and Altair sighed in relief. “Thank you.” He meant it, and he showed. “Our apartment is not to far from here, it's more comfortable to talk there than here in the car. That, and my friend here-” He patted Haytham's shoulder and offered Scarlet a smile. “... is a great cook.”

With another smile he turned again and fired up the engine to go back to their apartment, relieved that they finally seemed to have a lead.

-=-=-=-

It didn't take an extensive amount of time, the trio reaching the apartment quickly enough. Even upon entering the establishment it was clear Scarlet was nervous, constantly looking to and fro, watching the doors and windows, Haytham attempting a distraction, asking for her favorite food within the limits of what the kitchen held. A far cry from either kitchen he'd recently inhabited, it would suffice. And the request was not all that difficult to fulfill.

Steak and mashed potatoes at the ready, she ate as if starved, after carefully watching Haytham cook. He remained silent for sometime, waiting until she started to slow down, placing a Fosters beside her. "My son, some time ago, was taken to an underground - I suppose you could say - arena, where young men are made to fight to their death in front of spectators."

She froze suddenly, brown eyes meeting grey, Haytham continuing slowly, wary of her fidgety behavior. "Fortunately enough he is alive and well, we got him out. Most unfortunately, the gross majority of young men imprisoned there died that day, all of which were kidnapped and forced to endure horrible atrocities. We've learned of a similar place here in Sydney, and for my son's sake I wish to see its end."

"… You'd be helping a lotta people by just letting us know where this place is." It was the first time Altair had spoken since the car ride, dual sets of eyes locked on the girl. "Just anything- where the entrance might be, the exits, who's in charge- anything like that."

A few more seconds passed, Scralet sipping at her beer and tracing the letters with her overly ornate nails. "What'll happen to them, if I tell you where they are?"

"Well, the ones responsible-"

"Not them, the guys. Those who are fighting. And the girls like me." Teeth clenched a fingernail, brown eyes darting between Haytham and Altair, guarded. "Are you gonna save them too?"

"We will do whatever we can to help any victim involved in this tragedy. We only need know of a point of entry." Haytham carefully kept his face blank as she thought it over, fork pressing to her lips once again. "… There's a house, a condemned one with graffiti and boarded up windows about a half hour drive." She added after a large gulp, coughing slightly. "That's where they go to get their money, there's a locked shed that goes to the sewers, but they don't let me go down there. Only the payers get to go down there."

"Payers...?"

Averting her eyes, she wrung out her hands, uncertain. "The ones who stay for the bets. They 're the only ones allowed in. Another shrug and she finished her meal, almost sheepishly eying Haytham's. He pushed it over without further word, a last question. 

"I don't suppose you know the name of the persons responsible for running the pits?"

She seemed doubtful, frowning before she suddenly lit up, talking through he food in her mouth. "Wai', I migh'." Finishing chewing, she spoke quickly. "I... I don't know the big one, the boss never shows his face, not to us but his son... I definitely fucked his son a few times with some other girls." She pushed a piece of potato around huffing. “... fat piece of crap he is, didn't even use a condom, got one of the girls knocked up. My friend Patricia told him he oughta' wear one-"

"Wait a sec." Altair frowned, lips pressed together. "I thought you said you never saw the 'big boss' so how do you know that kid is his son?"

"Psh, he brags about it _constantly,_ always telling us how he comes from money and could pay us more if he wanted to but just doesn't. He talks about his dad all the time. The kid's name is like, Verari? Or.. somethin' Italian, I don't know, I don't speak the language." Silence, and she looked towards the door again, almost longingly. "Ye... think we can... get goin' now?"

-=-=-=-

Slowly allowing his breath to escape through clenched teeth with a whistle, Altair slowly leaned back in his chair. Wow. Well, it was good information, definitely... but not enough by a long shot. “Are there any other entrances to the place? Do you have any idea what it looks like in there?”

She didn't answer immediately and slowly twirled her beer around in her glass. “I'm... sometimes stationed on the inside. It's not much, just a big room where we girls sleep, and a bunch of smaller rooms for when we have customers. There's a door that leads into the main area where the arena is but we're not allowed near it. There might be other entrances but I don't know... I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry...” Sighing he dragged a hand down his face, feeling the rough texture of a growing beard scratch his palm – he hadn't shaved in a few days... he should. “The information you've given us is more valuable than you think. Thank you.”

“... so, you two...” Her eyes flitted from Altair to Haytham. “Can you really...?”

“Save you? We will damn well try. Of course I don't have to tell you that you should keep this, that you've talked to us, an absolute secret. You can't even tell your friends, do you understand? If the people you work for even get the slightest _hunch_ that we're after them...” because surely, whoever the big boss was, had heard about the events in Bali. 

“Do we have your promise on that? It's vital that you keep this silent.”

“Y-yeah.” Clearing her throat Scarlet nodded. “Yeah, I promise.”

Good... good. Well... that was it then, right. She had no more information to offer and they had done what the could for now. There was nothing they could do in Sydney for a while, not without the others. This would require a lot of careful planning because he couldn't help but feel that, even with the new information, they weren't nearly as well prepared likw they had been for the Bali raid. They'd have to think this over very carefully...  
He had one idea that could... potentially give them valuable intel on the place, but... it would be _extremely_ dangerous. He'd have to think it over very carefully before he would even share it with Haytham and the others.

“Yeah, we'll take you back...”

-=-=-=-

Haytham lived up to his promise, and then some, offering Scarlet an additional two hundred for her trouble, after receiving visual confirmation of the whereabouts of said shed.

It was was maybe a half mile from where they found her, the cul-de-sac an abandoned, vacant semi-circle of run down houses, a few stray cats and dogs, and a plethora of clearly drug riddled customers. The windows remained rolled up the entire time, Scarlet pointing a long fingernail to the house; run down, gritty wooden fence and clearly busy. Furthermore the shed could be seen, well guarded by a handful of larger individuals with a variety of guns. Intimidation of the weak at it's finest.

"… I hope you guys can do it." She didn't know whether or not she believed they could, but she would see in time, surely. Accepting the money gratefully, they wasted no time heading back to the apartment, wasting no time in informing everyone that they'd be home late the following day, scheduling a flight immediately. 

Marking the location was simple enough, though they still had no idea what awaited them beneath the surface. Still, an entrance was a place to start, and it gave Leonardo time to finish creating his suits.

Unfortunately it was yet another long flight, and they spent more time in Sydney then he'd wanted, gone a total of a week before they touched down in London. He'd never been happier to see fog, even if it delayed their landing quite a bit. And admittedly, there was someone he'd missed quite a bit.

Simply, brief phone calls and texts could not compare, particularly when so accustomed to ones company. The days of him traveling in comfort, uncaring of when he'd arrive home were long gone, a sense of relief and agitation washing over him while landing. Agitation because the flight back had been even longer by an hour, the jet stream against them. Relief because he'd good news, a starting point, a place to begin; finally some sense of finality and the possibility of closure.

And perhaps, just perhaps... he hadn't known whether or not Connor would attend, being they'd arrived at four in the morning, and Haytham knew his son well enough to know that was not a good hour for him. It was easy enough to spot him by the luggage claim, lips twitching. They'd all shown up, fancy that.

"You've got pictures of this place?"

"Of course."

"Way to say hi, Malik."

"Shut it Altair, it's 4 in the morning."

"Meow!"

"Why is he meowing?"

"We're playing a game, to see who can - meow! Saw it, lady in red with a hello kitty watch!"

Looking between them Haytham shook his head, passing his camera to Malik and ruffling Leonardo and Ezio's hair, though he was almost shocked when they both looked at each other and then at Haytham... before hugging him. Oh. Well...

As tentative as it was he returned the gesture, Ezio taking the bag from his hand. "We made breakfast for you both!" Excitable as ever Leonardo lead the way back tot he car, Malik and Altair bickering back and forth already. He hung back a moment, if only to walk with Connor, side by side. They hadn't spent that much time apart since he was kidnapped-

"Have you been sleeping?" And eating properly? And had they kept up their training? It was a bombardment of questions and he knew it, and yet he could not stop himself from asking, hand on the center of Connor's back from the airport to the car. Vaguely he wondered if they'd let him sleep after their briefing, more intent on having the company he kept beside him, curled and tucked against him. He'd never thought he'd say it, but it was good to be back in Queen Anne's Square.

-=-=-=-

Connor waited until the others had gotten their chance to welcome them back, smiling when Haytham finally turned his attention on him as they walked back tot he car. Sleeping? Wellll... it had been an extremely long week and truth be told, he'd never had to spent a night alone since Brazil. The dark circles under his eyes said enough. “I tried... can't say I was entirely successful.” At least, not until he had eventually fallen asleep from pure exhaustion alone. The others had caught onto it, Leonardo even going as far as to try to feed him some kind of mystery drink that contained herbs that would help him sleep (or so he said). It had tasted disgusting and had done nothing for him. There had been no nightmares, that was a plus but sleep had mostly evaded him as well.

It was why he hoped Haytham was tired as well after the long flight. Maybe they could go up to their bedroom after breakfast for a well deserved and much needed nap and catch up a bit.

Leonardo drove with Ezio next to him, Altair and Malik taking up the center seats, leaving Connor and Haytham to take the seats in the back. Just as well. He didn't particularly care if anyone saw him curl up to his father and take his hands in his. He had _missed_ him so much after all. Truly had.

And while he was curious as to what they had learned in Sydney, right now he couldn't be bothered to ask. They'd tell them everything once they arrived home anyway. “Leo made a lot of progress.” he muttered into Haytham's shoulder. “He created something really awesome that we are all pretty excited about, but he wants your input on it before he fleshes it out more.”

He glanced towards the front, and saw twinkling blue eyes watching him through the rear view mirror before they focused on the road ahead of them. Snorting Connor shifted and made himself comfortable against his father's-shoulder-now-turned-pillow, and squeezed his hand. “I'm glad you're home, dad.”

~*~

“Okay, so what did you find out?” Ezio nearly bounced his way into the kitchen, setting Haytham's bags down in a corner.

“Give them a break, man.” Malik grumbled, entering as well. “They just had a very long flight. Give them a chance to at least eat something first.” A nod at the table, already set up for two, plates and cutlery at the ready. 

Leonardo immediately made his way over to the coffee maker to prepare a fresh brew and narrowed his eyes at Haytham over his shoulder. “No, you sit _down._ I'll take care of breakfast, you just relax. Tell me what you would like, eat what _I_ make for you, and then... then we'll talk business.”

“Leo's been cooking for us every night.” Connor whispered as he pulled a chair back for his father and sat down in the seat next to it. “I still say he's not as good as you are.”

-=-=-=-

Oh but he didn't wish to sit. While exhausted he was more than capable of cooking for himself and hardly wanted the lad to so such. His lips did twitch however, at Connor's antics, and he uttered a soft 'thank you' as he sat. He'd never a lover hold out a chair for him.

And... well, Connor seemed rather fixated on keeping him by his side, to converse or seemingly use his shoulder as a pillow once more, and quite frankly he was rather comfortable. And being catered to had appeal.

Still he remained begrudgent, simply because he could. "Now now, I'm not some maiden who needs catering. I'm capable." He made no move to assert otherwise, adding a few seconds after, "French Toast would certainly suffice." If he need be honest it was an effort to keep his stomach from rumbling, he was exceptionally famished...

And breakfast proved to be quite delicious, as was the sight of someone else doing dishes for a change. He finished the rest of his coffee while listening to Ezio chatter of the training Connor had subjected him to with twitching lips, fingers resting on the lad's knee, stroking. So nice to be home...

But of course they need talk business, the pictures downloaded onto Haytham's laptop and viewed by all. He remained by Connor's side, aware of the circles that lay beneath brown eyes. 

"This, right here, is evidently a point of entry used by gambling spectators. And it took us quite some time to locate."

Multiple sets of eyes viewed it, the cul-de-sac in all its glory, shingles falling from roof tops and mange ridden animals about the homeless. Still the red paint chipped from the shed in full view, those who stood watch evident even then. "And as you can see, there was no way to infiltrate without rousing suspicions."

"Damn." Malik could literally see the numerous grimy looking people, dozens of them blocking the way. It was near impenetrable, and the guards with their fierce looking weapons- a sub machine gun amongst them- would have been impossible to pass. But that left them with a disadvantage they'd not had in Bali.

"It will be that much more difficult, navigating through the sewer without a directed path."

Haytham nodded in agreement, sighing. "It seems the security has either been superior or has increased with the recent attack of two dens, as to be expected." And yet another difficulty would be having civilians escaping unseen. The difficulties of everything were not lost on Haytham who exhaled in the form of a sigh.

"We're going to need a way to map exits, to fully intrude upon their operation without arousing suspicion. I just haven't a method I'd deem safe enough to attempt such."

-=-=-=-

“There is no way we can even sneak in there like we did in Bali.” Connor muttered as he stared at the photos. There was just no way. Not just the guards, but all the other people present as well, spectators buying their way in, civilians who might not even have anything to do with it... they couldn't do what they had done in Bali and take down the men standing watch outside.

Shit...

“The girl we spoke to mentioned other entrances but she didn't know their location.” Altair muttered and rubbed his face with one hand, clutching a steaming mug of coffee with the other. “She said she wasn't allowed in the arena, but where she and the other prostitutes sleep at night was connected to the main facility. Perhaps we can use that.” 

Still, it wouldn't do them any good unless they had an idea of what the place looked like on the inside. That was one advantage they'd had in Bali; because Connor and Haytham had seen fit to sneak inside long before the raid and get a general feel of the temple's layout, the width of the corridors, the amount of hiding places and the number of guards stationed there.

That's what they needed. Which brought him back to his original idea. “I... may know of something.” Five pairs of eyes fell on him and Altair glanced down at his coffee. “It's very risky, but everything we do is risky so...” A shrug. He could feel Malik's dark eyes on him, Leonardo's curious gaze and Haytham's calculating stare.

“One of us...” he began after a short moment of silence and he looked up to meet everyone's eyes, slowly looking around. “... has to go inside, pretending to be a spectator. Spy on them.” Altair had expected somewhat of an uproar at his suggestion, but the kitchen remained strangely quiet. “Of course this would mean the spy would have to keep his act up at all times, no matter what... horrors he will see.” He saw Connor tense and look away and for a moment he wanted to reach out and pat the boy's shoulder. He didn't... Haytham had that covered, but he could understand the kid's reaction. Whoever went in there would have to pretend to _enjoy_ watching two men fight to the death, and cheer for blood as hard as the rest of the spectators. And if they got caught... it was unlikely they could smuggle weapons inside, and even if they could they'd be outnumbered.

Still, it was their best chance and the others seemed to realize that.

“Who?” It was Malik's voice who broke the silence and Altair sighed; he'd thought about that as well. 

“Well... Haytham's face is too well known, so he can't be it. Plus he's our leader, I'd rather have him on the outside, leading from there.” That got him a few nods, and amber eyes drifted from Haytham to the younger Kenway. “Connor can't be the one either.” He raised his hand to cut him off before Connor could reply, an angry gleam in his brown eyes. “You can't, Connor. They know what you look like, and it's not even just that. How do you think you will react when you're so close to another pit fight and unable to do anything?” No... no, sending Connor in alone was about the dumbest thing they could do... especially after what had happened last time Connor had gone off on his own. Altair still hadn't forgotten what Cutter's eviscerated remains had looked like, bleeding all over the floor.

“And Ezio...” he muttered and turned to his cousin, shaking his head. “No offense, but you're still a rookie. You don't know what it's like in there, no amount of our stories could prepare you for what you'll be facing.”

Ezio grit his teeth and stared at the table, eying a stain on the wood. He didn't like it... but Altair was right, as much as he hated to admit. Connor had been putting him through a brutal crash course of training (seriously brutal, he could _punch,_ holy damn!) but he still had a long way to go. But with him, Connor and Haytham out of the picture, and they obviously couldn't send Leonardo or Malik in... that left...

“So you volunteer?” Malik asked, watching his friend nod.

“Yes... they don't know my face. I'm the most obvious choice.” He didn't _want_ to do it... but it was their best shot.

-=-=-=-

He didn't like that, not one bit. He was sure enough his stare held the contempt he felt, allowing Altair to go in alone. Leaders were not supposed to issue orders from the confines of safety, but rather embrace the front line as did their troops. Or perhaps he was being fanciful, but then again he'd lead for a substantial amount of time and was the head of the biotechnical engineering department. He got his hands dirty with the best of them, so to speak.

"I despise this plan on the grounds that I cannot attend. Yes, I understand I am far too well known for such given our reception upon landing, but I'd much prefer to be in the thick of things rather then watch from a distance and cross my fingers that all goes to plan."

It was with seriousness that he met the eyes of each man as he said it. "If there is anyone who will take the fall given a disaster occur it will be me, and I will hear nothing about it." Leaning back, his grip tightened on Connor's shoulder. "It's my job to provide stability and protection and I will do so as close to the action as I'm permitted to be."

Sipping at his coffee he finished off the rest of the rest of it, standing to make tea. "… Having said that, I see no other option. Infiltration and information are key to our success, as is the component of surprise. As such... you will be equipped with the smallest of cameras I can find, and there will be an ear piece with me on the other end, because lad, you will need support."

More then he may know... as of thus far Connor and he were the sole members to experience the horrors of the pit, even if it was via broadcasted video. And it was no secret- at least to him- that he still held some blame for Kadar's death.

Just how that would affect him remained to be seen.

"I say we discuss this at length in the morning, but it... sounds like the only legitimate choice we have." He poured himself, Malik and Leonardo a glass of tea each, getting out a few cocoa packets and marshmallows and giving that to Ezio, Altair, and Connor. It grew chilly this time of year, he should get the insulation checked...

"We'll handle the rest tomorrow. I suggest we all sleep in, we've earned the privilege." Or rather he was jet lagged and curling behind Connor sounded pleasant.

Indeed, he felt quite relaxed as he sunk into the soft sheets of his bed, with just a pair of underwear and a t-shirt on. Connor was a walking furnace at length, he needed little more then such.

Speaking of Connor... while tired to do much else he offered his son a quick peck on the lips before spooning behind him. "It's good to be home." Lips traced the contours of shoulder blades, burying his face into the broad shoulder before him. No matter how brief, he'd enjoy being able to slumber like this once more.

-=-=-=-

The week that followed was spent on preparing Altair for his solo mission. Leonardo had temporarily put his work on their combat suits aside to create some tools that would help Altair. The idea was to have him pretend to be some kind of business man of Moroccan descent, on a trip for work in Sydney with his wife - Malik had dug up an old ring somewhere to function as a wedding ring, as well as using his skills on a computer to create a fake passport; while it looked real enough from a distance, a trained person would see it was a fake but they hoped that the guards at the entrance wouldn't ask for 'proof', and if they did, only glance at it.

He'd go in wearing a pressed suit and no weapons. The only tools Altair would have to his disposal would be his wit and a pair of fancy looking Armani sunglasses where Leonardo had seen fit to attach a tiny, _tiny_ camera to in the center, which would send continuous footage back to the laptop. It also had a small microphone Altair could activate by pressing a small button on one of the legs, easily activated while pretending to adjust the sunglasses.

Everyone was on edge with the new mission looming over them, knowing all too well how incredibly risky it would be. If Altair got caught, there would be no way for them to help him, and he would have little to defend himself with, except his own skills at hand to hand combat... which probably wouldn't do him much good in the long run.

The one who seemed troubled by Altair putting his neck on the line the most though, was Malik. Surprising perhaps, seeing how the man was always nitpicking on Altair and offering him cold shoulders and calling him names, but Malik hadn't really left his side this last week. It was obvious to everyone that Malik feared another repeat of what had happened to Kadar.

Connor continued putting Ezio through his crash-course training, trying to get him ready for when they would finally go into the den. From hand-to-hand combat to weapon handling, Ezio seemed to pick it all up rather swiftly. Despite his playful and joking nature, Connor was glad to see his friend could be serious when he had to be.  
He could only hope that the weapons they had ordered on the black market would arrive in time before their trip to Sydney. Haytham had taken Altair and Malik to a gun store – a legal one, but the owner dealt in black market weaponry as well. The weapons had to be ordered though, seeing as they were all without serial numbers and the like, and they had been told it could take a few weeks. They'd call Haytham when that was the case...

Training and preparing aside though, now it was time to relax for once. All of them were seated in the living room in front of the TV, Connor plastered against his father's side on the couch as Altair zapped through the channels; it was his evening to control the remote and after a good five minutes of zapping back and forth he finally settled on Cartoon Network, right in the middle of a Power Puff Girls marathon.

“... you... are fucking kidding me, right?” Malik muttered, watching how Mojo Jojo got his ass delivered to him, and Altair shrugged.

“There's nothing else on.”

“There was a perfectly fine cooking show running a few channels back.”

“I'm not watching a stupid cooking show, Malik!”

“As opposed to watching a stupid cartoon? Gimme the remote.”

“It's not stupi- no! It's my evening!”

“Gimme the remote, you novice!”

“No!”

As Malik nearly pounced Altair and his quest to wrestle control of the remote Connor sighed, shook his head and nuzzled closer to his father, watching. Oh, Malik cared alright... and watching them scuffle was more interesting than the cartoon anyway.

-=-=-=-

He almost sighed, eying the cartoon before them. Seemingly large headed girls with the ability to fight crime of something to that affect. How silly, something so fancifully childish, as was the constant squabbling before him, Altair gaining the upper hand before yelping. All the while Ezio began to cheer, Leonardo shaking his head with a grin and Connor... well he couldn't any closer into his side as was. It fit somehow, a calm before what could be a potential storm.

He was content on watching them wrestle, Malik very clearly worried as of late, his concern taking the form of petty arguments and jovial physical aggression. He understood it all too well; Altair was providing a great service for them all. The remote almost collided with the television, Haytham clearing his throat. "Boys-"

"I didn't do it!"

"The hell you didn't."

"I didn't, you're just being an asshole, Malik." Snatching the remote from the floor, Altair lay back in his bean bag chair, glaring. "It's my remote, my turn. If I wanna put on the Power Puff Girls 'cause their ain't shit on then so be it."

"You're an idiot, there's plenty of interesting content on the cooking network or Discovery-"

"Lame and fake."

"You truly are an idiot."

Even as they continued to bicker, Haytham's eyes remained on the television, watching the large heads of the girls bob. It was silly to think about, honestly; it had no bearing on anything, and yet he felt compelled to speak, softly. "I'd always pictured a daughter of mine act in an according way." It was more to Connor then anyone but it was possible to hear him. "I do admire their ability to color coordinate uniforms to their eye color... I'd always been able to connect better with females for whatever reason."

"Probably because you're a lot nicer to girls, dude." Altair shrugged, adding. "That girl, Scarlet, I didn't think you had it in you to be like... I don't how to put it. It was kinda freaky to watch with you being you and all."

"… Thanks I think?" He paused, eying the girls for a moment, face neutral. "Lad, do you mind checking the news for a moment? Weather and the like."

A shrug and they channel surfed downward, passed a few stations. TLC, Discovery, AMC...

_"- the rams won in a-"_

_"- the mating ritual for a grasshopper-"_

_"- Walking dead black and white marathon-"_

_"… but who is Haytham Kenways new boyfriend-"_

"Wait, what?"

Eyes were suddenly on him, including a particular pair of brown. And all Haytham could offer was a shrug. "I've no idea what that could-"

Oh. Oh wait...

Beat red and flailing, Altair changed the channel only to have Malik stop him.

"Novice, put it back."

"No! We're just- just feeding the gossip."

"I don't care, put it back."

"No!"

"Now!"

"No!"

But it wasn't only Malik on top of him, Ezio joining the fray, going as far as to pin Altair's arms to take the remote away. "God damn it ,Ezio, dafuq?"

"Mi dispiace, but I want to see this too, eh?" It wasn't everyday their fearless leader was accused of having a relationship! Which was peculiar in itself being that the man never left without them being present.

It station cut in in the middle of the conversation, an 'anchor' laughing as the green screen flashed pictures behind them. _"Oh yes type indeed. I wouldn't have expected to see him dating so soon but just look at the shots!"_

He wanted to die. Wide eyed and red faced Altair looked up at Haytham from his spot on the floor, the picture of them pressed together chest to chest, Haytham's arm around him, one of Haytham licking his lips...

"I thought you fucking said this wouldn't air?!"

Haytham blinked, amusement stretched over his face, his hands squeezing Connor's briefly. "I didn't _think_ it would. I thought the world would have lost interest in me by now." Well, how about that. And he _did_ look quite fetching in that black, tight t-shirt.

"Oh my god!" Slapping his leg, Ezio was almost doubled over, the brief audio about to play as he tried to compose himself. This was the funniest thing that could happen!

-=-=-=-

Okay... what now?

Connor could but stare blankly at the screen as the anchor jubilantly talked about Haytham's 'new lover'. Uhm... “Something... you want to tell me, dad?” he asked, despite the slight squeeze in his hands. Oh he _knew_ that Haytham wasn't sleeping with Altair behind back, no! That was just _too_ weird!

But so was this.

Still, he couldn't quite prevent his lips from twitching slightly at his father's amused, slightly embarrassed expression... and Altair's face, which had taken on the complexion of a firetruck. “Does anyone care to explain this?”

“Oh Dio mio, si! Do explain!” Ezio's grin was nearly wide enough to split his face, and Leonardo was biting on his knuckles to keep from smirking himself. Even Malik looked amused, though he was trying to hide it.

Altair reluctantly pulled his face from behind his knees and risked a glance up at the TV – nope, still covering the same story! Quickly muting it he promptly turned his back on the screen and grimaced, unable to look the others in the eyes – Haytham especially. “They... were kinda waiting for us when we landed in Sydney...” he muttered. “Don't know how they knew, but they did and they suddenly shoved all these cameras in our faces and... and asked if...” No. Nope. He wouldn't say anymore. Gritting his teeth he wrapped his arms around his head and shot Haytham a glare, blushing furiously. “And you had to make a show out of it!”

“Awwww. You didn't like he called you honey?” Ezio cooed with a smirk and reached out to pinch Altair's cheek, only to have the man snap at his fingers with his teeth.

“Fuck you, Ez!”

“Ah no, I think Haytham was gonna do that.” the Italian chuckled and ducked when the remote was thrown at his head. 

Connor bit his lip, not really paying attention to the scuffle, slowly stroking his father's hand with his thumb. He had nothing to be jealous about, absolutely nothing. To do so would be ridiculous even!

He just... wished they could be so open about it like Haytham had been with Altair in Sydney, even if it had been fake. He wished they wouldn't have to hide it anymore, not even from their friends. To be allowed to walk hand in hand without getting stared at, to hug and cuddle, to kiss even just because they could, wherever and whenever they wanted.

But they couldn't, because they were father and son and that automatically made what they were doing taboo and forbidden... even if they weren't hurting anyone with it, or causing trouble by doing so.

It wasn't fair.

Tightening his grip on Haytham's hand Connor nuzzled closer into his shoulder, staring at the TV without really seeing it. Altair had changed the channel back to Cartoon Network, grumbling silently, and Ezio was rubbing his head where the remote had hit him. Connor paid no attention to it.

It wasn't fair...

-=-=-=-

Chuckling sheepishly, Haytham could but shake his head at the scuffle. Ah it would hardly be the first incorrect rumor circulated regarding his relationships. William would certainly have a field day when he found out, if he hadn't already. It was amusing, Haytham chuckling, looking to Connor.

What would have been a jovial comment died on his tongue, jaw clicking shut. Grey eyes averted back to the television, a mask of neutrality in place. Granted Connor did not appear outwardly miserable. It was more distant then anything else, as if he was lost in thought. And from what Haytham had learned from his lad, that was rarely a sign of positive thinking. Such was almost impossible address amongst current company...

In the midst of his thoughts the phone rang, Haytham glancing at the time before clearing his throat. "Altair lower that." If the time of night could be trusted, he'd a fair idea who'd be calling.

And he was right on the money, hanging up after a quick sentence was ushered before clearing his throat, directing his attention at everyone somewhat regrettably. "As much as I'd like to continue the evening on a lighter note, that was our arms dealer, and it's now or never lads." Unequally unhappy was he regarding Connor's demeanor, but it was not the time to address the issue, unfortunately. One of the unfortunate side affects of being a team leader.

"We're to be there within the hours, let's not waste time." It was a short enough drive if one took back roads, the shop on the outskirts of London, the keeper allowing them in after making sure they were not followed.

It wasn't until they were left for a moment so the weapons could be displayed that Haytham sent the text to his son. 

I'd call you honey too if you weren't more a dark latte.

-=-=-=-

Connor and Ezio locked eyes and quickly jumped out of their seats, followed by Altair, who looked strangely eager and excited.  
Leonardo and Malik opted to stay behind – they too had ordered some just-in-case weapons but they were small, and besides, four people entering a weapon shop after hours was less strange than six people. They risked enough as it was.

During the short drive with Haytham behind the wheel, the three of them eagerly talked amongst themselves about how incredibly _sick_ their weapons were gonna be. Altair was especially psyched... understandably so, as the weapon he had chosen was one of the biggest.

The shop keeper quickly ushered them inside, clearly on edge as he locked the doors behind them and led them towards a room in back. Connor figured that he wouldn't have even accepted a huge order such as theirs if it hadn't been for the equally huge price tag that came with it.

The backroom was nothing fancy, he noted as the shop keeper excused himself to get the weapons, when his pocket vibrated. Frowning he reached down and fished out his phone, blinking at the text that appeared.

Uh... what? Why was dad comparing him to coffee-

Oh. Dark latte huh? Biting his lip he quickly texted back: _if ur gonna compare me 2 liquid im a hot chocolate drink, have the cocoa nuts to go with it_

Ahem, that was almost too crude even for him but he pressed 'send' anyway, feeling his face burn as the shop keeper returned carrying several boxes. “Give them a quick glance over and take 'em with you, I'm risking enough for you lot already.” 

Setting the boxes down he stepped back to allow them room, and Altair immediately went for one of the largest boxes, popping the lid open and almost salivating at what lay inside. “Sick!” His fingers trembled as he gently lifted it out, holding it as if it was a newborn babe, a bright grin stretching his face. “A real fucking Galil ACE 53! Fuck yeah bitches!”

“Yeah, very cool.” Ezio mused as he peered into his own box; surprisingly he had gotten himself something much smaller; two .44 Magnum Desert Eagles XIX pistols, they packed quite a punch.

Connor twirled his own pistol around in his hands, a Kimber Warrior .45 ACP. Nothing too fancy, he had mostly gotten it to get some extra firepower and because his father had insisted on it... he already had his bow for long distance fighting anyway. Haytham had insisted everyone order a combat knife as well, including Leonardo and Malik, who would also each get a Kimber Warrior, but Connor had been very clear on the matter. He didn't want a knife... he had custom ordered something much better and Leonardo had assured him that it would be done soon. A tomahawk fitted him much better than a knife anyway.

And all of these, combined with the 'secret weapon' Leonardo had invented for them... damn, they'd really become a force to be reckoned with! Oh he couldn't wait until the blond was done with them!

He looked at his father's weapon, eying the long, sleek barrel with curiosity. “Wanna tell me why you chose a sniper rifle of all things?”

-=-=-=-

Well _well_ now. He glanced at the text, lips twitching at the brief markings of red flush across Connor's face. Not the answer he'd expected but certainly better then he'd hoped. It was almost difficult to focus on his own weaponry, grey eyes for more intent on watching white canines bite a full lower lip.

Minx. Cocoa nuts _indeed._

Ah, but there she was, his own pride and joy. He managed to keep his excitement at bay, a more controlled sense of happiness passing through him as he held his SVD Druganov sniper rifle. How long had it been since he'd even touched one of them? Even the dingy setting and price tag could not hamper his muted joy, index finger stroking the trigger. Granted he was fully aware of its intended use but if there was anything he loved, it was a gun that acted as an extension of himself, as all weaponry should.

"Hm? Pardon?" Caught in his day dream he hardly heard the question, having to think before answering, looking through the scope. "Long range, the chance to take a man off guard, lessening the chance of someone alerting the other den leaders early..." If it was anyone else the answer would have been 'never you mind' or something to that affect. Haytham instead offered the answer with a shrug, carefully placing the rifle back in its place.

"… Should I become injured it is an ideal weapon." It caught Connor of guard, and he was not the only one, Altair frowning, adding, "Way to be confident."

"It hasn't to do with confidence, it has to do with reality. I'm the eldest and the leader, something very well may happen despite preparation, and should it, I will remain of use." He placed the money on the counter, calling to the shop keeper for assistance as he addressed the topic without a hesitation. "I am intent on remaining useful regardless the circumstance."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, we would put you out like old yeller if you weren't."

"Thank you Altair, so touching."

"I try."

"You fail, but that's besides the point. The fact remains I do not intend on becoming incapacitated, but will prepare as is my nature." Foot tapping impatiently, Haytham held his chin high in wait. "Now where is that shop keeper, he's preventing our commencement, merriment, and my date with a pair of coconuts." Eying Connor with a grin, he elaborated for the other two men, "Inside joke. "

-=-=-=-

Inside joke huh? Ezio eyed Haytham; he hadn't missed how Connor had choked on his own spit at those words... nor had he missed how earlier he had sent someone a text while blushing and how Haytham had checked a new incoming message seconds later.

Something was up here, and it was only fueling the hunch he had, unlikely as it was. He was better off keeping it to himself though... it was all likely just a coincidence; despite the fact they were so close they surely were not close on a _sexual_ level of all things. That was just weird! 

Even if they did sleep in the same bed. And snuggled whenever they could. And... gave each other these knowing looks every once in a while. And... the things they said at times.

 _Stop it, they're not together!_ Hm, yes he should listen to his conscience and forget about it already! Gently putting his two Desert Eagles back into their respective box he closed the lid and patted it. “I'll go get him.” he muttered and quickly left the room, finding the shop keeper in the main room of the store.

The man was eager to see them go, and after counting the money and offering them all some very quick handshakes for the good business provided, shooed them out of his store and locked the doors behind them.

“Such a shame I can't take my new best friend with me on my solo mission.” Altair muttered as he climbed into the car. 

Ezio slipped in after him and gasped, pretending to yank an arrow out of his chest. “Oh Altair, I am shocked and hurt! Shocked. And. Hurt! I thought I was your best amigo!”

“Pfft not in a million lifetimes.”

“Oooowwwww you're killing me here! Look, I'm crying even. Tears of anguish they are!”

“Shut it you.” Altair grumbled before he smirked and slung his arm around Ezio's neck, locking his head in place as he rubbed his knuckles down on his skull.

~*~

Malik and Leonardo were waiting for them in the living room, eager to see their new purchases... in Malik's case anyway. Leonardo was reluctant to accept the knife and pistol they had gotten for him; he had made it very clear that while he didn't mind making weapons for them, actually having weapons for himself was something he struggled with.  
It was best though... he and Malik were to stay behind in the van, to provide tactical support from a distance, but in case they were ever discovered...

“Speaking of weapons,” the Italian mused, shoving the box holding his knife and pistol to the side without having opened it, “I want to show you a new prototype I started working on while you two were in Sydney. Just a silly idea I had but it works very well so far and I think it will come in handy.”

Connor perked up as Leonardo pulled out a new box from underneath the table and pushed it open – oh this had to be the awesome secret thing!

Everyone huddled around the blond as he attached something that resembled a bracer around his forearm and held it up so they could see the underside, showing a strange contraption. “I call it a hidden blade, for a lack of a better name. It's locked now, but if I remove the safety and do this...” Reaching up he pressed a button on the side and flicked his wrist back, and everyone jumped as a sharp blade shot out of the metal contraption, extending far past his outstretched fingers.  
“It's pressurized; extending your wrist back like this activates the mechanism and slides out the blade. Relaxing it again causes it to slide back again. It will have protective padding on the top and will have the same colors as the suit to make it fit with the rest... if you all like this anyway.”

“Are you kidding me? That is insane!” Ezio's amber eyes were wide as he stared at the hidden blade with childish fascination, watching the blade slide back as Leonardo relaxed his hand until it disappeared back in its sheath. “That is seriously cool! No one will think to search for a weapon strapped to our forearm, right?”

Altair nodded slowly in agreement and Connor rose up on his toes to take a better look at it. That really was cool! “We're all getting one?”

“If I can get them done on time, yes. Watch this.” Pressing another small button two small metal bars appeared and as Leonardo flicked his wrist back again to activate it, they shot out, extending not as far as the blade had, but far enough, crackling blue with electricity. Connor felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, a soft hum reaching his ears and Altair whistled.

“Hidden tazer! Might come in handy.” Leonardo said proudly and held it up a little higher before relaxing his hand again; the two metal bars stopping crackling and slipped back down where they couldn't do harm. Leonardo quickly flicked the safety back on and undid the straps that kept the bracer around his forearm, laying it down on the table.

“Dude, you're a genius. I've always said it and I'm saying it again. You're a fucking genius!” Ezio muttered in awe and Leonardo chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

-=-=-=-

Beyond impressive. He could but eye each weapons appearance with intrigue, truly enamored by the complex ingenuity behind both designs. Such simplistic ways of controlling them, and yet their application was beyond useful.

"I've to agree with Ezio, this is possibly the finest bit of engineering I've seen." It was a compliment not to be taken lightly, Haytham examining the prototype before ruffling blonde hair, the red hat moving with his hand. "You should be proud."

If the flush spoke of anything it was the pride he felt, the nervous laugh accompanying him proof enough. Indeed another weapon could certainly do no harm, not one so light weight and easy to utilize. It seemed as though they were quickly becoming an assembled team of what he hoped were apt and deadly fighters. It was about as good as they could get for their next destination, the den awaiting their arrival. And it couldn't come soon enough.

~*~

Private planes were a complete pain, as was hiring someone last minute to fly one until Leonardo or himself learned the controls. A pretty penny and then some for the nearly day long flight, Haytham neglecting to schedule their departure for obvious reasons. They'd far after the attack on the den, perhaps take a tour of the Outback to divert attention.

Private plane or not, only so much could be done to avoid paparazzi. Their own plane certainly helped- with the lack of ticket buying came the lack of credit card trail, a definitive highlight- and with that, less reporters. For how long he'd remain unrecognized however was another manner in entirety, hence his own trepidation and increased care. He could only imagine the headlines this would make if the mere insinuation of a boyfriend sent the media into a frenzy.

At least William found his antics amusing after watching what was the nature of his responses to reporters, and Altair had calmed considerably. Speaking of the man, he had hardly eaten in the past day, Malik almost plastered to his side in his own stubborn way. Haytham would prepare him the best they could in the days to follow. He knew too well what it was like to watch the horrors of the pits.

It's what he told him as he adjusted his pressed jacket for the umpteenth time, wiping his glasses of an imaginary smudge. "You may not be prepared for what you see, Altair." Grey met amber, serious. "War and this are on two distinctive tiers. Know that no matter the difficulty, we are all here, waiting for what will be your triumphant return." Fingers kept fixing his suit, plucking a string here and there until he finally clasped them in front of himself, cupping them in front of one another and squeezing before he stiffly adjusted his headset, allowing Malik a moment. He resumed his spot next to Leonardo, asking rapid fire questions. "The monitors are working?"

"Si."

"Sound systems go?"

"Si."

"How about the-"

"Haytham." Leonardo said it with a smile, giving their supposedly fearless leader a kind smile. Haytham cleared his throat. Right, yes, Leonardo was competent.

"… Pardon."

In place of words was a hand covering his, squeezing, before Leonardo turned on his own head set. "Ezio, Connor, time to tune into channel Osprey."

-=-=-=-

This was it.

The door of the van closed behind him, separating him from the other members of the team. The shack that served as an entrance to the den was only a block away, but Altair had to force his feet forward. He was nervous, he was _scared_ like any sane man would be when faced with what he was facing. He had to keep himself under control though, calm down, stay relaxed... lest he blow his cover. Both Malik and Leonardo had taught him ways to keep his breathing calm and any potential panic under control; their advice echoed in his head as he walked, ignoring the prostitutes calling to him.

Slowly... slowly he was calming.

Two men stood in front of the shack's entrance, keeping a wary eye on everyone in the street. Altair knew they were carrying weapons even though he couldn't see any at the moment. Not until the guards spotted him; they didn't say anything but they did raise their guns, aiming for his chest and he stopped.

“What you want?” one of them sneered, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Altair sighed and adjusted his sunglasses, hoping that Haytham and the others could clearly see their faces. “Well, I _heard_ there'd be a show.” he answered, putting as much impatience in his voice and reached into his pocket, showing the guards a glimpse of the stack of money bills he had in there. “I know of other places where I can spend this though.”

The two men looked at each other, clearly considering this before nodded and stepped aside. “Fine then. Down the stairs, straight ahead.”

“Thank you.” Walked up the steps Altair calmly walked past them, stepping inside the shack, and in his chest his heart was having a fit. It was going alright so far, but Jesus...  
The room was barren, with only a few couches and a table. A door stood open right across of him, stairs going down, lit by flickering lights. Glancing down he pressed the small communicator built into his sunglasses and whispered, “So far so good. Going in.” Taking a deep breath he stepped forward.

After a minute or so the stairway evened out into a short hallway, clearly part of the sewers and ending in a door where two grim looking guards stood watch. They didn't ask questions and stopped him with a raise of hands, thoroughly patting him down for hidden weaponry. Satisfied he didn't carry any one of them opened the door and nodded. “Enjoy your stay, sir.”

Stepping through, the scenery changed drastically. Well lit, he found himself in an underground lounge, because that's what it looked like, and he wasn't alone. Other people, mostly men and most wearing suits like him, stood here and there with drinks in his hands, animatedly chatting amongst each other. Opposite of him was another door, with a hallway, and Altair could hear music. It became louder the deeper he walked into the den until he suddenly found himself in a huge open room. It almost looked like a bar; there were small tables everywhere, skimpily-clad women walking around them carrying trays and drinks for the people already seated. In the center was a huge, circular hole in the floor; he already knew what it was as he stepped closer and peered down, leaning his hands on the fence surrounding it. 

It definitely matched Connor's description of a pit, with sand covering the floor, darker in places, smooth walls and various 'weaponry' lined up to the side – machetes, chairs, shovels, bats, even wooden planks with nails in them, and all clearly had been used before.  
Above the pit were four large LCD screens, currently showing static, and he also took note of the cameras pointing into the hole... clearly to broadcast the fight when it started so everyone could see.

 _Fuck..._ This place... seemed a lot better organized than the one in Bali had been...

Seating himself at an empty table right next to the pit he sighed and drummed his fingers on the table, trying to hide his growing nervosity. This place... this place was _wrong._ How could people even enjoy being here? He felt sick...

One of the skimpily clad girls walked over but he quickly brushed her away with a wave of his hand... he doubted he could get anything down his throat now anyway, and alcohol was the last thing he needed in this place. No... he just wanted this over with and get out of here-

“You new here?”

Altair looked up sharply; next to him stood a man, wearing a similar suit like his own but looking much more relaxed than he did, a martini in his hand. “Sorry?”

“Are you new here? I've never seen your face before.” The man gestured at the pit. “I come here a lot, ya know. Know a lot of faces.”

Ah. “Yeah, I'm new.”

“Figured. Do you mind?” Nodding at the empty chair across of him Altair shook his head and the man sat down with a satisfied sigh, before leaning forward and extending his hand. “Steven. Nice to meet ya.”

He shook the man's hand briefly, remembering the fake name they had chosen for him. “Azhar.” Perhaps... perhaps he could weasel some information out of this guy...

-=-=-=-

Guards. Everywhere, there seemed to be guards patting him down, checking for some sort of identification. The further he walked the more it became clear as the grit of the shed cleared and turned into an area with lush seating, a bar with furniture and opulence making its way through their vision. Haytham had been to restaurants that offered less in terms of class, though the women had been absent, for which he was thankful.

Organized, well kept- without the grime and dirt of the jungle and the obvious stationing of their prisoners. This was organization at its _finest_ whether it be precaution or habitual, this den leader was far more involved in design then the last. Altair spoke with a minimal tremor, their conversation loud through the thick silence of the room as Steven began to talk. "What brought you here?" 

An olive covered toothpick brought to his mouth, he chewed for a moment before taking another long sip. A slight hesitance, and Haytham spoke gently through the microphone: _"You've a friend acquainted with the pits, worked in Bali."_

"I know someone who worked in the pits, in uh, Bali."

"Oh yes, yes of course." He mentioned it as if mentioning the weather. "Terrible what happened, tragic. To think of all the livestock gone to waste."

Altair couldn't be gladder to be wearing glasses, an eye twitching at the very thought. "Yes. Such potential."

"Oh yes, although they're easily replaced." A snap of his fingers and he was given another drink in under a moment, replacing the empty glass. "You've ever been to Brazil? Now Silas knew how to run an operation, his pit devil- now _that_ was a well bred slave." With a glistening smile he wrapped his arm around Altair loosely, friendly. "I'll let you in on a little secret, you pay enough, and they'll let you do whatever you want to their fighters, even the prized ones. Silas was wonderful about that, I can't tell you how many times I had his most prized fighter." He frowned, before smiling again, removing his arm to drink. "You would have liked him, if for nothing else then to toy with. Syrians are something else."

It was Malik shaking next to him that confirmed his hunch, the man taking deep breaths, and Haytham whispered into the microphone. _"Altair, calm down. Calm. Down. He will get what he deserves some other time."_

Steven kept speaking, oblivious, twirling his drink. "They'll let you do the same here, there's quite the interesting mix around, and you're in time for one bit of a show. I've put forty towards the Cuban, how much did you bet, hm?"

"… Fifty." Stiff, that’s how it sounded, though Altair managed to cough. "On the Cuban as well."

"Ah! See, that's what I told Francesco, no one will vote for the 'under dog' in this case but he does as he will, same as any boss I suppose." The sudden clank of chains could be heard, Steven pulling a cigar from his pocket before waving another man over. "Speaking of bosses... Vieri! Come on, before the entertainment starts, I've a big spender who would want to meet you." Inhaling, Steven whispered, loud enough for Altair to hear. "Get in good with the boss' son and you'll have it made."

-=-=-=-

There was nothing they could say. Leonardo wrapped his arm around Malik's shaking shoulders and looked away to give the man a moment to himself.

Connor grit his teeth and tightened his hold on the back of the chair as Malik buried his face in his hand. They all knew who this Steven guy was talking about.

~*~

On the inside he was seething, but his face betrayed nothing as Altair stood up and shook hands with Vieri. This was the guy Scarlet had mentioned, the one who saw it fit to abuse the girls when he could – a young man, perhaps around Connor's age, puffy-faced and with an expression that clearly told he thought of himself as better than everyone else. He forced a smile on his face and let go, resisting the urge to wipe his hands on something. The son of the boss huh?

“I'm impressed.” he said. “I didn't expect this place to be so well organized.”

Vieri eyed him for a second and shrugged, a bored expression on his face. He didn't seem interested in talking and for that, Altair was glad. Just looking at the guy give him... well, not the chills, Vieri wasn't that intimidating but it was likely that he had grown up in this environment and that probably made him very unpredictable. He kept his eyes on Vieri's face for a while, giving Haytham and the others plenty of time to memorize his face, and finally turned his attention back on the screens.

What Steven had said... Silas' prized pit dog... hadn't Connor said something similar? That Kadar had been the champion? Was Steven talking about Kadar? Under the table his hands clenched into fists... Kadar... poor poor Kadar... Jesus, and Malik must have heard this as well.

Altair was pulled out of his thoughts when the people around him started cheering and hollering, and next to him Steven stood up and clapped his hands, a big grin on his face. Blinking he looked at the LCD screens and then leaned forward as well, peering over the railing into the pit. Men he recognized as guards only because they were carrying weapons escorted two young teenagers into the pit. They wore filthy rags and were bruised and dirty, and Altair felt his stomach clench and twist. These were the pit dogs, the poor sobs who would be forced to fight for their entertainment. One was definitely Cuban.

“They're late.” Vieri grumbled behind him. “My father will hear about this.” Altair looked over his shoulder with a frown as Vieri stomped away. Steven just offered him a shrug.

“Guess we caught 'im in a bad mood. No matter! The other kid is gonna lose so hard!”

 _Yes, and will probably be killed for it too._ Altair thought grimly and took a deep breath before facing the pit again, preparing himself for the horrors he was about to witness.

~*~

His fingers were hurting with how hard he was digging them into the back of the seat. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen in front of him, the image slightly shaking as he watched through Altair's eyes how the two boys were positioned opposite of each other and someone, a narrator, announced the fight. He couldn't hear it, not over the rush of blood in his ears.

He hadn't witnessed a pit fight since he'd last been in one himself, the day Kadar had died at his hands. Even in Bali he hadn't exactly seen the pits there, had avoided them. He could still... remember it so clearly... the rough sand between his toes, the stench of old dried blood, the cheering, the yelling, the screaming... he could almost still even feel the adrenaline that had spurred him on, to keep fighting, to keep _living._ Survive. Fight! Throw everything else away. Only one thing mattered. Winning.

Connor tore his eyes away from the screen as a bell rang, indicating the start of the fight, and quickly walked away from the laptop as far as he could go. He couldn't watching this. He couldn't!

It was Ezio who followed him; Leonardo was comforting Malik and Haytham... Haytham had to look out for Altair. But Connor needed someone right now, and they were friends. “Connor...?” He wouldn't ask him if he was okay... he clearly wasn't. Connor's shoulders were shaking and his eyes were wide open, wet and staring at the wall with a distant glaze.

They had never actually talked about what he had experienced in Brazil. He had never dared to ask out of fear of raking up bad memories, because even after all the time that had passed it was clear that it was still troubling his friend greatly... after all, that was the real reason why he shared a bed with his father, no? The nightmares.

“Connor?” Snapping his fingers in front of his face he waited until brown eyes finally shifted over to him. “That's it, Connor. You're not there in the pits, you're here in the van with us, alright? You remember?”

Connor blinked at him and after a few short moments, nodded, answering with a whispered “I know.” He had expected this of course. They all knew they were going to see a pit fight today, and Connor had thought he was prepared to see it... but he hadn't expected it to be so... so.

Confronting.

“I just... n-need a moment, Ez.” he muttered and covered his eyes with fingers that shook. “Please?” The Italian clearly hesitated but finally he nodded and patted his friend on the shoulder before turning and walking back to the others. Connor would join them later... _after_ the fight was over. For now, he couldn't bare to watch, or even listen to it... he was seeing piercing blue eyes again whenever he closed his own.

-=-=-=-

An ongoing disaster, an emotional catastrophe. The shuddering breaths and soft coo's from beside him more than signified the pain associated with every moment of this. Even as Haytham's hand closed around the broad shoulder he knew this was not enough. There was another victim, and he'd taken his leave, Haytham shutting his eyes just for a moment as only one pair of footsteps marked a return. He needn't look to know who'd returned.

And it tore into him so viciously to remain seated when he knew what demons Connor faced alone. How often was the mind ones worst enemy?

A deep breath was taken, Haytham locking his eyes on the screen before him, watching the fight begin. There was nothing he could for Connor momentarily, and the lad would understand. But there was something else he could do.

"They'll be freed. Think not of those who will perish between then and now, but those you have saved by bearing this with a stiff upper lip." It wasn't personal comfort, it was not an issue of 'everything will be alright', it wouldn't. He didn't know that. But there was a young man putting his life on the line who needed his guidance.

Gruesome, brutal, he would remember Vieri's face and nonchalance. His attention was still on the pits, Haytham stilling to focus on the two shaken teens who'd emerged, one overtly of Cuban decent and small but seemingly built of muscle. The other... taller but balky, scrawny, perhaps young enough to be in the throws of puberty- another factor that disturbed him greatly and left crescents in his palms.

As the bell dinged the two men sprung into action, the taller of the two boys faster on lean legs. The weapon of choice the machete, his reach outstretched the Cuban, but his shaking hands couldn't land a mark, swiping blindly. And the smaller of the two choose the chair, for reasons the thin man seemed confused by, until it hit him squarely in the face as it was thrown, the Cuban reaching for an aluminum bat and wasting no time, cracking the boy as hard as he could in the shin.

The snap and scream to follow would be ingrained into his mind, and thought he fell to the sand, eyes misted, the second the Cuban approached he retaliated with a broad swipe, slashing the entirety of his forearm. Blood matted the sand in ribbons, the smaller man backed away with a continuous yelp, examining his arm in horror. It was deep, long, and more blood hit the ground with every pound of his adrenaline filled heart. On shaky legs the man before him stood, limping, the bone uneven and clearly broken even from a distance.

And beside Altair he could hear Steven's irritation in a mumble, "Stupid prick, if he doesn't win he'll have the crowd to answer to." He put forty thousand dollars on this match, he better not loose him one of his yachts...

-=-=-=-

It was horrible, even more horrible than he had expected it to be. The two boys went at it with everything they had. Even from this distance he could see it in their eyes, the will to fight and win and _live._ It was exactly what Connor had told them, exactly the same.

And no one cared. No one cared the boy's were hurting, were scared, struggling to survive. They really were seen as nothing more than tools.

“What's the matter, Azhar? You're not liking it?”

Altair blinked and glanced to the right, at Steven who stood up and shook his fist at the fighting boys in the pit. Ah well, he supposed he really wasn't watching with this with as much enthusiasm as everyone else. How to even explain that? “... not enough blood.” he muttered, and Steven laughed loudly, slamming his fist on the table.

“You're right! You're absolutely right! More blood!” Raising his hands he looked around, and around them more people stood up and began clapping their hands in the rhythm of 'more blood, more blood, more blood!'  
Altair realized with a grimace that he had no choice but to join in lest he blow his cover and reluctantly stood up as well, join with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

He felt _sick!_

In the pit the boys looked up with large eyes at the many people staring down at them, demanding to see more blood and more pain. Meeting each others eyes the Cuban boy reached out and grabbed a shovel, offering a small nod. It wasn't personal, they both knew it... they didn't hate each other and they certainly didn't want each other dead.

But what other choice did they have?

-=-=-=-

The cold demand swept through he speakers at full speed, the crowds excitement almost tangible. Malik had finally calmed enough next to him to view what was occurring. No comments were made regarding red rimmed eyes, a tissue offered by Leonardo but nothing further.

He was glad Connor had left, and as the Cuban lifted his shovel he whispered to Ezio. "Keep my son from seeing this." He doubted Connor's return, but should he walk in on the forced brutality and accompanying death... no. No he would not have his son, his lover harmed further on his account.

"Almost over, Altair." His own voice remained calm, neutrality masking every bit of hatred he held for these men. "It's almost over."

Blood marked the path, darkening sand as it spilled from the uneven rip of the smaller man's arm. Shovel held upright, the taller man did his best to stand with his injured leg, teeth grit in determination but there was little he could do. The shovel had more reach, even when held awkwardly in the left hand. The first swing missed, the taller of the two taking a swipe and yelping as he put too much pressure on the broken bone. Almost immediately the opportunity presented itself.

He pounced, shovel slamming against the head of the taller boy, more weight applied to his leg which sent him toppling to the ground with a shriek of terror and pain. Altair felt nauseated, watching behind the thankfully tinted glasses as he stood with the rest and cheered, watching Steven's face and countless others contort in pleasure, celebrating their winnings as the the taller boy was struck.

Once in the leg, again in the head, again in the chest, the sharper edges of the steel shovel cut into his ribs, his arms, his legs until he murmured, the Cuban ready to take aim for his neck, raising his arm upward-

And it was with a final lunge that the furious cry broke the taller man, the machete missing the Cuban's heart but hitting him directly in his stomach. The boy's eyes widened and the crowd went silent, a hack leaving him that left bloodied lips in his wake. The shovel dropped, the handle hitting the taller boy in the mouth, but it wasn't relevant, not as he pulled out the machete... and drove it back in, higher. Through ribs and aiming for his heart, and the Cuban fell forward, another spatter of blood hitting both the fallen boy and the sand before him, a sob leaving the taller man as the Cuban shook, falling forward on top of him, breathing ragged as blood spilled.

He breathed his last in moments. Hollywood glamorized death so. Haytham's eyes could not leave the boys, and there was no light that faded away, no absence of what once was. He was simply dead.

And that was more then enough to be horrific.

A majority of the crowd stood in awe, though the minority's happiness quickly grew on the underdog, a steady cheer escaping them. It was a few moments for the shock to wear off, and Steven finally muttered, shaking his head. "Well there goes the new yacht until next month. Well played, Francesco." Lighting his cigar, he sat with a shrug as guards dragged the lifeless body from the ring, pulling the boy to his feet as he limped horrendously. "Never would have thought a sixteen year old would beat a veteran but there you go." 

His smirk widened, hand clapping Altair's shoulder. "It's what makes the pits so exciting, isn't it? You never know what will happen."

-=-=-=-

“True that.” Altair muttered and reached into his pocket to fish out a cigarette – he really needed something to calm his nerves. Steven lit his lighter and reached towards him, allowing Altair to lit it and he took a deep drag. Ooohhhh much better!

“So, what did you think?” Steven asked as he reclined in his chair and waved one of the barmaids over. 

“Short.” he muttered, crossing one leg over the other as he fingered his cigarette. He wanted to go already, but that would be suspicious. Besides... he hadn't seen enough of this place yet, no sign of any of the other entrances... but this place was so well guarded, there was no way he'd be able to sneak where he wasn't supposed to go and pretend he was lost or something. He hadn't sneaked in here to watch a pit fight, he'd gone in here to discover the best way inside and show as much of the surroundings to the others... and now it seemed like his solo mission was doomed to fail.

“Short indeed. The next fight better be longer... should be in an hour or so. You staying, mate?”

Smiling around his cigarette Altair's raised his hand, wriggling his fingers around to allow the light to reflect off the smooth metal of the ring he wore. “I'm afraid I can't.”

“Ah.” the man chuckled. “The wife don't know you're here?”

“Obviously not. The wife thinks I'm at a company meeting.”

“Hehehe, don't they all?”

~*~

“Connor?” Ezio shook his shoulder gently. “The fight is over, Connor.”

He stirred slowly from his place on the floor and looked up, meeting concerned amber. It was over? It really was over? “Did... did someone die...?”

The Italian grimaced and averted his gaze with a small, hesitant nod. “Si...”

Ah... figures. “And... Altair? Is he out yet?”

“No, still there.”

Oh. Brushing his sleeve along his nose Connor slowly crawled to his feet; he felt... embarrassed for having lost it so easily but he knew the others understood. And even if they didn't, dad would and that was all that mattered.  
Ezio clapped him on the shoulder and walk with him back to the others, Connor taking his place next to Haytham again. “When is he leaving...?”

-=-=-=-

He didn't turn, attention still kept on Altair, on the surrounding ring. They hadn't seen enough. As horrid as it sounded he needed the man to endure just a little more. "Altair, I need you to meet Vieri's father."

It wasn't a command nor was it a question, but a blank statement and an answer to Connor's question, unfortunately. "If there is a way to make it happen do so." He sounded cold, didn't he? Fingers clenched Malik's shoulder harder than intended, the sting of his palm splitting as his free hand dug into his flesh.

Altair said nothing as to be expected, Steven coming to stand as the crowd filtered out, and for a moment Haytham contemplated apologizing or telling him to abandon the notion. He was pushing... perhaps too far, after all he'd seen. Another drag of his cigarette and Altair waved down a a barmaid, ordering a drink, sipping at it before-

"So, now do you guys have a bookie or do you pay the big guy upfront?" His gaze turned to Steven, liquid vanishing very slowly, a slow slip at a time as the man faced him, puffing a long bit of smoke from his lips before gesturing. 

"Either way works, as long as you pay before the end of the month." He stood with a grand gesture, offering Altair a hand. "He likes to be paid face to face, he's very hands on, Francesco. Reminds me of Silas, actually."

With a final puff he dumped his cigar into an offered ash tray, leading the way, through a connecting parlor and down a narrow hall that separated at a fork. "Oh, hey now, you don't want to go in there without paying first." He gestured as Altair took a step towards a separate walk way, steel doors locking what was another area. He gulped hard at Steven's next words, glad he was turned away. "He wants money before one plays with his merchandise, for investments sake."

"Of course, that's only reasonable." A short distance further, through the small door, two armed guards blocked the entryway again, having no problem with Steven's presence, though they notably tensed at Altair's.

"Hey now, the big spender's with me." A hand patted his back, Steven's smile friendly. "Azhar here is going to be a regular face, isn't that right."

"Of course." It was only with Steven's recommendation that he was allowed entrance, the opulent room in all it's rich decor coming into view. A sturdy desk and lounge, a pool table and large, plush furniture, equipped with the haughty ramblings of an irritated son. 

"It wasn't a long fight, they were late, not enough blood, and where’s my drink, skank?"

"In a moment, sir, we had to purchase fresh limes."

"Hurry up already!" Behind the desk sat a man, one of prominence, Steven immediately interrupting the squabble. "Apologies Francesco, but I am not one for debts and thought I'd make my payment now." It's what his brief case held, Francesco's attention caught, and Altair made sure to stay on his face long enough that the image burned to memory without the use of the camera. And from the other side Haytham murmured in finality. _"You can leave at your earliest convenience Altair."_

They'd seen enough.

-=-=-=-

Altair couldn't follow up his advice fast enough. He thanked Francesco for the great entertainment provided, 'promising' him he'd sent the payment over by the end of the week, as he had to leave now before 'the wife' grew suspicious.

“I hope to see you again, Azhar.” Steven grinned after they had left the office and offered his hand. Altair took it and shook it with a firm squeeze, nodding.

“I'm sure we will.” _With my gun in your face,_ he added mentally. The sooner they got this den out of business, the better... that boy, the winner of the fight today... he desperately needed medical attention. His leg had looked _bad,_ and Altair _knew_ that somewhere down below, in the slave quarters, were dozens of more young men just like him.

Steven walked with him to the exit where he had first entered and shook his hand one last time, bidding him good night before returning to the bar to wait for the next pit fight.  
Good riddance... that guy deserved to be locked up for life. The guards at the doors did not bother him as he walked up the stairs and entered the shack, glad to finally feel the cool night air on his face. He took his time, calmly walking towards the street until he was sure he was out of earshot and muttered into the microphone. “Be there in a minute. Have a drink ready.” He was desperate to get plastered...

Ezio stood waiting for him in the open door of the van and quickly ushered him inside, closing the vehicle behind him. He found it... hard to meet their eyes, Malik's especially. While they knew Kadar's life in Brazil had been horrific, hearing someone talk about so casually, someone who had _aided_ in Kadar's suffering... it made his blood boil.

Taking off the sunglasses he tossed them on the narrow table next to the laptop, but before he could sit down and accept the beer bottle Leonardo handed to him, Connor suddenly blocked his way. Blinking Altair opened his mouth to say something, noting the boy's red-rimmed eyes, but his mouth closed with a clack again as Connor, surprisingly, pulled him into a brief but tight hug. It only lasted for a few seconds but it was enough to shock him into silence, and Connor kept his eyes downcast as he pulled back and muttered softly: “Glad you're safe...”

… y-yeah. Reaching up he squeezed Connor's shoulder and finally accepted the beer from Leonardo, taking a long swig from it. Oh finally! “Well, that wasn't completely useless...” he muttered as he sat down and rubbed his eyes, trying to forget the sight of what he had seen, the heavy smell of blood. At least they had seen some things that were of use... the face of the big boss for one.

-=-=-=-

Francesco. Vieri. Steven. 

The names and faces repeated themselves one after the other. He'd remembered each one and would until this was all over. Even then they'd linger but he could fight to push them aside at that point. It was horrid, every bit of what they witnessed, and yet he pushed all feelings of anger aside, swallowing every bit for the moment.

"Yes, the information you found was invaluable, and for that I thank you." It was said genuinely, and for a moment he halted. In all his years of running a cooperation, there was a rule above all others. He was to lead. In times of adversity he would be the rational, unemotional guide that all others would admire. Adoration was unnecessary, his goal an easy one; be the unemotional head and make decisions that are exceedingly difficult. There was nothing to think of, simply a way of acting that best suited their financial needs.

And it should be easily applied as he was in the same position, the leader of yet another organization. Five years ago and it would have remained such, simply business. Clearing his throat, he took a step in Altair's direction, intent on debriefing and letting him on his way.

Instead an arm found itself over a pair of shoulders, briefly, fleeting, but strong while present. And it left him as naturally as anything he'd ever said, even as he stood away, facing amber eyes. "Your father would have been proud. I am."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're baaaaaaaaaaack! The last update was way back in May, but we really did need the break. It's over now though, and we're back in business! Hard at work writing chapter 21 right now.
> 
> So I'll get straight to it: warnings for this chapter include **graphic character death, violence, references to drug use, prostitution and rape!**
> 
> In other news, Girlsloveyaoi finally caved in and made a tumblr, if you want to follow: simplyhaythamtastic. Mine is still simplyconnorific.
> 
> This was quite a challenging chapter becaue of the location and what they have to do, so I hope you guys enjoy it, it's nearly 15 pages longer than our chapters usually are. Hope it was worth the wait; we're nearing some fun Plot Points again. >D
> 
> As always, if you see any errors please let me know.  
> Now get to readin'! ^__^ Good to be back, lol.

The last few days had been hectic. 

Planning. Plotting. Preparing.

Stress. Anxiety. Mood swings.

Tomorrow. That's when they would do it. That was when they would go _inside,_ take down Francesco de Pazzi and free those trapped within the den. And it would not be like Bali. Security was a lot tighter here, and the fact that the den was hidden in the outskirts of Sydney... if someone escaped, or if the alarm sounded, or if the police were notified in any other way... then _they_ would be in deep trouble as well.

That was why they had decided on tomorrow. Altair had gone back in a few more times, trying to capture as much of the interior on camera, as well as trying to extract more information from Steven. Tomorrow, or so they had learned, the den would be home to a big event: Sydney's champion, versus one of the champions from one of the other dens (because _of course_ there would still be more). A 'friendly' match, to strengthen the bonds between competing dens... it didn't make it any less sickening.

However, it did mean getting inside would actually be easier. Through Altair they had learned that there were actually two fighting pits; the first one Altair had spent most of his time at... and a second, larger one, hidden deeper inside. That's where the event would be held... which would mean the first pit and surrounding bar would hopefully be devoid of life.

They were in the basement of the house they had rented during their stay here, having just talked over a few final pointers concerning their training. Connor watched from his peripheral vision as Ezio checked the remaining ammo of his Desert Eagles, a tight frown on his face. He had taken on responsibility for Ezio's training, giving him a crash course to the best of his abilities... of course Altair and Haytham had pitched in occasionally, but most of the time it had been him teaching his friend. Ezio had been hopelessly behind when he first joined them, and he still was the only one with no experience in the field whatsoever. He was the most likely to get hurt, and... Connor couldn't help but feel responsible for him. He wouldn't say so out loud, because Ezio's poor ego and pride might get hurt hearing that, but still...

He was nervous himself... he could only imagine what Ezio must be feeling. Last night he had accidentally eavesdropped on Ezio talking to his sister over Skype. He hadn't meant to, he had only come up to ask Ezio a question... and it wasn't like he had understood a word they'd said, but from the tone of Ezio's voice he could tell that it wasn't a happy conversation. He wouldn't tell Claudia what they were really up to of course... but in case something went wrong...  
There was no guarantee they would all survive this, or even come out of it intact. He had done what he could do, had prepared his friend to the best of his abilities. They were a team, they would all look out for one another and have each others back... that was all they could do.

Tonight they would relax... because it could be their last.

Packing his pistol away Connor moved towards the door, idly wondering if dad had already finished dinner – he was starving – when he noted Ezio still hadn't made a move. Turning at the base of the stairs he watched him for a few seconds; Ezio's eyes were still on the pistols on his hands, and he did not look up when he finally voiced his question.

“What is it like?”

Blinking Connor scratched his head. “Is what like?”

“Taking a life. What does it feel like? I mean... what do I _do_ when I pull the trigger? Shooting at a dummy is easy, but...”

Oh... wow. Geez, how was he supposed to answer that? Honestly, Connor had expected a question like this; Ezio was the youngest of them all, only seventeen, and had never taken a life before, unlike them. Even Altair had served in the military before joining them and had seen his fair share of death already. And he had hoped Ezio would ask him or Haytham instead... they were much more suited to give a good answer. “Well... um... geez Ezio, that's a tough one.”

“Mi dispiace, I just...”

“No, I understand.” Stepping away from the stairs Connor joined his friend near the table again, staring at the Desert Eagles he still held. 

Slowly Ezio put them down on the table and shoved his hands into his pockets with a deep sigh. “I will pull the trigger when I have to. I will not hesitate. But I've read stories... about how killing a person can change who you are. I don't know what to expect. Do I... brush it off and keep going, or-”

“No! I mean yes, you keep going, but do not brush it off like it's nothing. It's still a life you're taking. They're bastards and they deserve it, they have it coming but it's still a life. _They_ don't care, Ezio. To _them,_ we're just trash. Disposable. Merchandise. And I personally refuse to be like _them_ and not care about the lives I take. I don't keep count, but I remember. I refuse to _forget._ It's not something to be brushed off.”

A slow nod was his answer and for a while, it was silent. Then:

“What was your first kill like?” Ezio looked up when Connor tensed up next to him, his breathing hitching for a split of a second and immediately his expression changed from morbid curiosity to genuinely apologetic. “Mi dispiace, I didn't mean...! Shit Connor, I'm sorry. That was a stupid question and I had no right-” His mouth shut with a clack of teeth when Connor raised his hand and shook his head.

Nothing was said for a while; Ezio fidgeted... was Connor angry at him now for asking such a personal question? Connor wasn't moving, staring down at his knuckles, which, Ezio noted with a tight swallow, had turned white, fingers gripping the table. Oh crap.

_Crap!_

“Connor-”

“You know I was held captive in Brazil, right? As one of their pit fighters?” Connor's voice was barely more than a whisper, and Ezio slowly nodded. Yes, he knew. They had told him and he had seen the news at the time. He just... didn't know the details of it. He knew that it had been horrible, that it had _changed_ him because it had been _that_ traumatizing, so he had never asked for more information.

And now he already regretted asking that one question. Connor's first kill hadn't been during the Bali raid then?

“I had a friend in there. Cell mate.” Ezio almost didn't dare to breathe as he listened, Connor's eyes still on his knuckles. “We were pitted against each other. He was to kill me, on camera, to discourage my father from trying to find me. But my friend had been stuck in there for three years already and I think he knew he wouldn't make it out alive anyway... so he stopped fighting. He just stopped. He... gave his own life to give my father enough time to find me. But _they_ had me kill him. I had no choice. They would have shot us both on camera if I had refused. I had _no choice.”_

Ezio almost backed away from Connor, watching his shoulders tremble. Connor slowly straightened and took a deep breath, and when he turned to look at him Ezio was relieved to find no anger in his eyes for having asked that question. They were wet, and sad, but not angry. “My dad found me a few hours a later. I wouldn't have made it if my friend hadn't sacrificed his own life for me that day. It's why I keep fighting. So no one will have to suffer through what he suffered through.”

“I'm sorry... I didn't mean to rake up bad memories, Connor.”

“It's fine. I never forget, remember? I gave it a place, but I won't forget. Besides, better you asked now when the others aren't around.”

“Why?”

A thick swallow, and Connor took a few moments before he answered with a whisper. “My friend was Malik's younger brother. His name was Kadar, and Malik didn't know he had been alive all those years. It's... still a very sensitive topic for him.”

Ezio could but stare, trying to let that information sink in. That was just... what could he say to _that?!_ That explained why Malik and Altair were on the team too... to them it too was personal.

Connor sighed and motioned towards the door with his hand after wiping his eyes dry, making his way towards the basement's exit. “I'm hungry... wonder if dinner's finished yet. You coming?”

“Y-yeah... I'm coming...” Though he didn't think he'd be able to swallow anything after this...

-=-=-=-

Over and over, grey eyes squinted, the trajectories and pathways clearly marked. Malik had perfected his craft and Leonardo's assistance had proven positive in entirely; a three dimensional replica after weeks of examination, hours of construction. Altair's own camera's and opinions given what he's seen were utilized to the fullest. This was unlike Bali.

Organized, careful- 'Azhar' hadn't been able to approach the second, larger pit until nearly three weeks, only after Francesco had personally approved of such. And the size alone: to think the man's own office stood between the two pits, a large divide separating that pit from an even larger den. And kept in the confines of such were not only pit dogs, but as termed by Vieri, his 'bottom bitches.'

It was the day Haytham was grateful he did not accompany Altair, or could not. Vieri's teeth would have littered the floor only slightly before his own innards likely would have.

And the stress of such showed, Haytham's involuntary cough loud as Altair entered, wreaking from the near constant chain smoking.

The lad simpered over, taking his usual seat, fidgeting with his lighter. "… sorry."

"No need for that. We've all our vices. " Malik took to reading, snapping at the slightest interruption, Leonardo to drawing... on random surfaces, occasionally temporarily defacing property with a sheepish grin as his mind wandered.

Even Haytham had taken to the bottle, a little harder then perhaps necessary but with reason. It was the unspoken truth, this was possibly their last night whole, after several months of cohabiting.

The timer on the roast dinged. He stood, head shaking before the feeling vanished. The far side of tipsy. He hadn't been there in some time.

"I got it, Haytham."

"Hm? Oh don't be ridiculous Altair I'm not nearly inebriated-"

"Just let me-"

"It's _fine."_

"Then just let me fucking do it!"

Had he not felt him shaking, he wouldn't have been spared. The heavy smell of smoke clung to him, Haytham tipping his head but for the moment. The hoodie pulled securely over tan features, it was impossible to discern much. Leonardo had stilled, glancing between the two, pen scribbles marking the deep mahogany of the table. Whether it was his dislike of confrontation, or perhaps his alternate view of Altair, he muttered, kindly, something to the affect of getting Malik.

Footsteps tapered off. Haytham watched a hand tremble before they were shoved into pockets. And the removed. And wrung, twisted.

"Just sit your old ass down, and, let me do something, okay? Just let me... you're always and.."

Hitched breathing, uneven. He allowed Altair to take the reigns, let him set up dinner. It was only after this and before anyone could return that he said it.

"You'll be fine." A pat on Altair's shoulder and Haytham left his hand there, squeezing. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure of such."

"I'm not worried 'bout me."

"Ezio will be fine, Connor is very astute when he wishes to be."

"Not worried 'bout him or Connor."

Now _that_ was a surprise. His own brow furrowed, and head shook as he retrieved a few glasses, surely he was capable of doing that. "… If you're worried for me because I'm the brains of the proverbial operation I assure you, Malik and yourself are plenty intuitive enough-"

Wood rattled under fists, Altair's amber gaze fixed on him and for a moment he could not remember how to breath. "You're so fucking stupid sometimes." A finger poked at his chest and he stayed his ground, but watched the face before him contort. "You don't get _it._ You're like, a super hero! You come in and... and string us all together, and train us, and feed us, and... and get us united. The weapons, the house, all of it, that's _you._ You're like, something from a fucking movie. But you're older, and you're not impervious, and there's a chance that if it's one of us it's probably _you_ they'd capture, you'd they torment." 

His gulps audible, Haytham held his jaw shut with teeth that ground nor grit, just silent. It was meek, the voice that left Altair. "I... I dunno. I fucked up already, ya know? And you're like... I mean, ya took me in and like... I dunno... I'm sorry, I dunno."

He wiped his eyes furiously, shrugging, huffing. "Sorry."

He couldn't say whether or not Altair expected it. Nor could he note when he made his move. But his arms were around shoulders that shook, regardless of approaching footsteps.

It only lasted a moment, and they parted, each exhaling, clearing their throats. Altair to finish getting the cutlery and hiding his face beneath his hoodie, and Haytham to the bathroom, meeting Connor and Ezio on the way back, hoarse voice the sole indicator of anything wrong. "Dinner's ready."

-=-=-=-

Connor could only blink as Haytham brushed passed him with a fast stride in the direction of the nearest bathroom, as if he was eager to get away. Uh... okay?

“Did you get into a fight with my dad?” he asked the moment he walked into the kitchen and found Altair placing forks and knives on the table – huh, his eyes were red.

“Don't worry about it. It's nothing.” was the hoarse reply he received, and Connor frowned.

“Well, if you say it like _that_ I worry even more, but alright...” If it was really serious Altair would tell him, right?

Malik and Leonardo entered moments later, and barely five minutes after them Haytham returned as well, freshened up and looking like his old usual in-control self again. Still, the air in the kitchen remained tense as they ate, quietly. No one said much, everyone focused on what was looming ahead, and everyone aware that this could be the last evening meal they would share together in this kitchen.

It was Leonardo who excused himself first, wishing to retire early. Ezio followed his example immediately afterward, dumping his empty plate into the sink before he followed his friend after bidding them all good night.

Altair was next, muttering something about needing a smoke and some fresh air – an odd combination, but they let him go without commenting on it. Malik returned to his book and Connor left to take a stroll in the small overgrown back yard to clear his mind, after his offer to help with the dishes was blatantly refused by his father.

They were ready for this. They couldn't be more prepared than they already were. They had the weapons to get this done, the tools, the skills, the /drive/ to see this through. They could /do/ this.

Connor stayed outside long after the sun had set.

~*~

“Mind telling me what that was about?” His pants flopped to the floor and he stepped out of them, bending down to pick them up and drape them over the back of a chair. “In the kitchen, before dinner. Altair said it was nothing but his eyes were red, and you normally don't run off like that as well.”

Turning Connor eyed his father with a curious gleam in his brown eyes as he sat down on the bed and plucked the string that held his hair tied back out, tossing it on the side table. “Unless of course it's none of my business.” Except that it totally was.

Flopping back into his pillow Connor crossed his arms over his naked chest and raised his eyebrows, eying his father and waited.

-=-=-=-

It was by far the quietest dinner he'd experienced in quite some time. It loomed for sometime, Haytham incapable of meeting anyone’s eyes for several moments after his own return. Even as dinner waned with everyone to their prospective activities, Haytham took a moment to himself, if even to clean the dishes, clear his mind.

He got abot half way through the dishes and gave up, allowing his skin to redden under the scalding shower.

It was sometime later that Connor joined him, Haytham seemingly immersed in yet another Steinbeck novel. The room was silent until Connor broke it, Haytham squinting away from his novel, unsure of proper response.

The smallest desire to tell him it was indeed none of his business leered. And yet as Connor mocked his words and leaned toward him, his hair falling free as he trapped his ribbon, he fought the urge to grin.

It manifested in the barest of lip twitches, eyes back to his novel. "Foremost, I do mind. Secondarily, it _is_ none of your business." Eyes lifted to the handsome face, and the battle was lost as he pinched a cheek. "Third, it's rude to mock the wise, lad. Had I the desire to become a disciplinarian I'd bend you over the knee." He paused, smirk deepening. Perhaps there was merit in the idea, but his libido evaded him momentarily.

Lingering, the fingers that once pinched softened, flattened until his palm cupped his cheek. A thumb traced a few freckles, his hand traveling into hair that slowly grew with every passing day. Messy endeavor, though this too suited him.

And this too he could lose.

"Altair has mistakenly perceived me as a, oh a hero, I suppose, or that's what I surmised." And he blinked, surprised suddenly at how rapidly his throat tightened. The hoarse chuckle that left him only magnified the affect, Haytham seeking refuge into the strong curve of a broad shoulder, lips tracing the scar he inadvertently made upon it in what seemed to be another life.

"… Little imbecile with his horrid linguistics somehow conveyed a notion that surprising and effectively captivated my emotional propensity and drastically reduced it." He paused, the urge to smile growing. "Or as said imbecile would say, 'he fucked with my emotions and made me bawl like a pansy.' Erm, 'fo' real' and 'yolo' and all that other blatantly terrible garbage."

Three minutes to settle down. He hadn't the nerve to look into the bathroom mirror, and he hardly the nerve to face Connor... but the lad had seen him in worse condition.

That and he could... trust him.

And trust he did, glassy eyes meeting brown. "I don't believe I've ever had someone refer to me as their hero. Evidently he fears I may expire, and it was enough to cause him to voice such." And it had, perhaps, hit him a little harder then expected. It was muffled into Connors shoulder, his brows furrowing. "I hadn't expected to become attached, lad." He knew he'd develop camaraderie, of course. But this extended far beyond that, and it was both terrifying, strange, and exciting.

And he could not hide the sarcasm, feeling brave enough to part momentarily, if but to wipe his eyes. "I evidently make a fair father figure. Who knew?"

-=-=-=-

Connor sputtered loudly. Say what now? Like hell Haytham was strong enough to manhandle him into a bend-over-the-knee position!

Not unless he was willing. Which he wasn't.

…

Not right now anyway. Ahem.

Connor kept the comment to himself though... now didn't feel like the right time, especially not when Haytham moved to bury his face into his shoulder.

A hero huh? Well... he could see where Altair was coming from. Haytham was the one who had brought them all together, who lead them and who took care of them all. Kinda like he was the big mother hen. And... he did share Altair's fears. They all risked injury and death when out in the field, but if Haytham got shot and died then it would be over them as well. Haytham was what was keeping them all together, and without him they would be lost and vulnerable...

Swallowing thickly Connor turned into his father and draped an arm around him, burying his face into pepper colored hair and smelling the sweet shampoo he'd used. “They have become kinda like a family, haven't they?” he muttered softly. Altair and Malik and their constant bickering... Leonardo, always smiling and always eager to help out... and Ezio, almost like a brother he'd never had. Heh, if only mom could see them now. What would she think? Would she have liked them too? They would have liked her, no doubt about that...

“You're the best father so don't act so surprised.” Swinging a leg forward over Haytham's hips he shuffled closer and closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “... Ezio is scared. I didn't really know what to say to him to cheer him up. He was... asking some difficult questions about killing.” Ezio had said that he wouldn't hesitate... but that was a lot easier said then done, and in the heat of battle, of chaos with bullets whizzing past... would he be able to?

He would make sure to keep an eye on him and stay close. Just in case. “I just hope the training I gave him was enough... I kinda feel responsible for him, you know. Weird as that sounds.” It had better be enough...

“Dad...?” Biting his lip Connor pressed his face further into his father's hair. This was going to be a difficult question to ask, and an even more difficult question to answer... but it had been bothering him for a while now, and he had to _know._ “Do you ever wonder what... what mom would have thought about all of this? Everything that we're doing now?” His grip tightened a little and he couldn't quite hide the tremor in his voice. “Sometimes I fear that she would not approve. That wherever she is now, she's looking down at us and watches us do those things, and... it hurts her too. To see how much we've changed and how far we are willing to go. We're... still doing the right thing, aren't we?” 

-=-=-=-

He couldn't bring himself to comment. The best father... somehow he neglected to conjure such images what with bedding his own kin, the drunken nights he had, even to an extent what he allowed them to engage in. He put them all in danger.

Or united them with a purpose. Provided justice that law enforcement negated. It was perspective, one that altered on the roughest days. The events unfold in the days to follow would make him choose the perspective he should support.

And it was during these thoughts that Connors question struck him.

It was... not the best of times, though he could understand the curiosity, and most unfortunately the timing. What would Ziio think... he almost scoffed, watching her spinning atop her head with news of there, erm, blossomed relationship.

He was an honest man, when it came to his son at the very least. And when not about something trivial. But even so he paused, listening to what he would have said if he was cruder. 'There is no heaven. She is not watching. Don't burden yourself.'

No. A hand extended over his Connor's back, rubbing, and he parted, only to meet his eyes. He'd not tell him such.

"If, and I said if, there is an afterlife of sorts..." Yes, he'd treat it as a hypothetical, he simply must,"I'd assume she would have been against the notion at first, but not for the reasons you may think." He elaborated, careful of the tender ground he tread upon. "You were her everything, Connor. To put you in a circumstance in which you may loose your life would not have been taken lightly, nor well." 

Lips twitched, unpleasantly. "She'd probably have my head, as would most mothers I'm sure. And she'd every right, lad." Truly, she did. Should they reunite he expected nothing short of a tomahawk to the jugular.

Even so, his look softened, hands threading through hair again. "Having said that, given the circumstances there is no doubt in my mind that she is as proud of you as ever for overcoming what you have. You've matured, grown, have began to accept a place in... I suppose the pseudo family we have created. And you become greater with every day that passes." And he couldn't for the life of him regret his decision, having watched everything unfold.

"It's a pleasure to have an equal by my side." And their was a glimmer in his eyes, a twitch of his lips. "And I will stay as such, even as you exceed my capabilities." Which he would, young and in his prime. If it bothered him at some point it no longer did, just fact to accept with a burst of perhaps fatherly, or loving pride. He could not make out the difference.

And as he lay his head on his shoulder once more, it hardly mattered.

-=-=-=-

…

He blinked rapidly, glad that Haytham had taken to using his shoulder as a pillow once again. Yeah... yes, he was probably right. Mom would not have approved of it at first, but after a while she would have understood _why._ And she would have never stopped supporting him. He wasn't religious, he did not believe in God or heaven... but wherever she was, if she was watching them, he hoped she watched with that proud look in her eyes.

“Do you remember that one time I stayed up all night to throw chestnuts at you?” he mumbled after a moment of silence. “I believe I hit you square between the eyes with a beautiful _thunk_ sound. Heh, you should have seen mom after wards, she was _so_ angry at me. Made me throw away my favorite sling shot.”

Connor could not resist the twitch pulling his lips up into a smirk. Heh, those were the good old days, even though they had been filled with so much frustration and hate towards his father. “Or that one time I caught you and mom doing the naughty. I think I punched you. And burned the kitchen table after wards. Heh, and that first Christmas when you made me drive the car you had bought for her, and mom and Myriam were constantly hitting on you. I've never seen you turn _that_ flustered a second time.”

Ah Myriam... he missed her. Shaun too. Unfortunately he couldn't ask them to come visit; the risk that they'd see something they shouldn't was simply too great. If only he could tell them what they were up to. It wasn't as if he didn't trust them to keep a secret, it was simply for their own safety too... best not to get them involved. Same with William. Though hopefully they could at least invite them over when Christmas came around again, hide everything in the basement and lock it tight so they wouldn't see. That'd be nice...

Eyes closing Connor snuggled closer to his father, seeking out the warmth of his body, the familiarity of Haytham pressed up against him helping him to relax.

“G'night dad...”

-=-=-=-

To think, a couple of years prior he'd disliked the boy intensely. That was it though, wasn't it? Connor had embodied a child, one he wished to know and could not; a mutual hurt they shared yet expressed in vastly different ways. He was forever the same emotional storm, and yet, he found the folly so minor now when measured against the noble qualities.

"Good night lad." His own grip tightened, and it was not until sometime later, when the occasional light snore left Connor that Haytham whispered into the silence, just in case.

"I'll see him safe."

~*~

Meals had consisted of granola or energy bars, Haytham up to the challenge of cooking but unwilling to eat, much like everyone else.

If only to adhere to the whims of a musical stomach he partook in something while packing ammunition, careful too avoid anything with caffeine. The recommendation extended to all, over zealousness could lead to disaster.

He'd sworn it had taken more time to ready the van last time. Or perhaps it was the screech of nerves, testing his own patience, endurance, anxiety. He could but imagine how Ezio must feel.

A small distance from the cul-de-sac, before one turned into the street that bore the sign 'Dead End' a rough quarter kilometer away, it came to a slow halt, shrouded in rubbish and shrubbery that had befallen a condemned house. Tucked behind fencing with a secondary route of escape, it was close by that the sewer's cover had been gradually loosened in the days prior, a small fact unnoticed by the vagrants, johns and prostitutes that littered the area.

It was here they geared up, here they readied themselves and ran headset tests, Malik checking each one individually for the last time.

"A moment, before we endure what we will."

Leonardo had taken to braiding his hair, the same ribbon used but tied at the bottom, his hair tucked under a layer of clothing. Mask and hat in place they were rightfully ready, but he'd the need to speak, if for a moment. "A few reminders, before we head out. There is to be _no_ wandering off, of any sort, regardless of who you see or do not see." If his gaze stopped on Connor a touch longer then necessary it wasn't entirely voluntary. "Should we get separated, focus on your survival. This may be difficult here, but Malik knows where you are and is far more capable of uniting us then you are. Survive, hold out. If an emergency arises that forces our retreat, do not hesitate to do so."

Nods, a sea of them, and Haytham took to frowning, ignoring Ezio's surprise as he adjusted his 'crooked' mask, picking imaginary lint from Connor and Altair's shirts before nodding. "It should go without saying, but I've been told I don't verbally express myself." 

It was a stern look at all of them, even Leonardo and Malik. "I am going to be tired after this raid and expect all of you to make me breakfast in the morning. All of you. Yes Connor, even your blasted cooking will suffice, and no Ezio, you can not get out of doing dishes." Intent understood if the somewhat amused smiles meant anything, he opened the door, leading the way towards the manhole. "Well, to it then. If we're lucky we'll get back in time to view this on the late news."

-=-=-=-

Taking a deep breath Connor patted Ezio on the shoulder and stepped out of the van, pistol in hand and on the look-out for anyone who might see them. As they had discussed, Altair immediately moved to the manhole, crowbar in hand and pried it open before tossing it back to Haytham, who tossed it back to Connor who handed it back to Malik, who closed the door of the van.

“You first, Connor.”

Nodding peeked down into the whole and grimaced. Ugh. Sewers. Gross. The smell was as bad as he had feared as he climbed down until his feet hit the ground and looked around. Ezio followed after him and swiftly covered his nose with his mouth. “Merda...”

“I know right?”

Ezio stepped aside to let him Haytham pass and Altair was the last to climb down, making sure the manhole was closed. “Osprey here. We're in, which way?”

_“Left and keep going straight. I'll let you know when to take a turn.”_

“Thanks Leo.”

_“That's Lion to you. Meow.”_

Connor and Ezio shared a look, having to bit their lower lips to muffle their snickers as Altair and Haytham took the lead. Despite knowing where they were going and what they were about to face, especially considering how dangerous it was... while he was nervous Connor couldn't help but also feel excitement. This was the first time they got to take Leonardo's gadgets and bad-ass combat suit out to the test, and it was _awesome!_ The boots he wore barely made a sound against the dirty floor, the goggles came with night and heat vision and the masks not only helped hide their identities, they also served as gas masks.

Unfortunately they did not filter out the _smell._ There was still room for improvement.

“It's disgusting in heeeeeere. Cazzo...”

“Careful Ez, there are rats down here as well.” Connor muttered as he turned to look over his shoulder to make sure they weren't followed. In front of him Ezio wildly looked around, eyes wide behind the glass of his goggles.

“Rats? Where? I don't see them!”

“Right in front of me.”

 _“Where?_ I don't-... oh very funny, Connor.”

“Haha, you're not afraid of rats, are you?”

“Pfft no! They're just disgusting! Not scary.”

“In deniaaaal.”

“I'm not-”

“Knock it off you two!” Grumbling Altair glared at them both, amber eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Keep your stupid joking until _after_ we're done here.”

Yeah he had a point. “Sorry.” “Mi dispiace.” They would just make sure to annoy the shit out of Altair when they got back home, hehe.

They walked in silence for a while, only broken when Malik or Leo instructed them on which way to go. They were only about a block away from the entrance, and before long they could hear the quiet, bored mutters of the two guards that stood watch in front of the door that led into the bar. They stopped just before rounding the corner and Connor looked at his father for instructions. There were two and while they all had silencers mounted on their weapons, Haytham was the only one with a real sniper rifle.

There were two guards though.

“How do you wanna do this?” Altair whispered softly. 

-=-=-=-

Ignoring the joking all together, Haytham stuck to listening to the directions. If Altair appreciated the pat on the back he gave him for hushing them that was an additional bonus.

Through the muck and smells, Haytham kept up the brisk pace, eager to get in and out. Bali had been a cake walk compared to this, and admittedly, the tweedles twins made him weary. Should Connor loose his patience or should Ezio find himself incapable of killing, well, both were plausible events. He need trust them with his life, and their own lay in his hands.

While perhaps not the most comforting of thoughts, he need keep such in the forefront of his thoughts.

The mutters of a pair of bored guards reached him, Haytham eying them both before searching around them. An alarm to the left, stationed some paces away from the guard on said left.

"Him first." Armed and dangerous, both of them, and Haytham eyed his scope, uncertain just how fast he was, if he was willing to chance it...

"I need a distraction for the second... wait I have it. Osprey, fire at the man on the right, but miss. Just close enough to get his attention, to his left, alright?"

"Gotcha Eagle."

Scope pressed, gun aimed, Haytham waited for a moment, until the two guards faced one another. "Now."

Almost instantly, the clack of one bullet sounding to the left of the man, followed by the sudden explosion. A muddled heap of skull and brain, tissue in various pinks and red littered the cement, the surprised man open mouthed and staring. And as he planned, the ricocheting bullet to his left sent him sprawling, away from the downed man, away from the bullets.

And most importantly away from the alarms.

Perhaps he'd been quick enough, and in his youthful days may have took the chance. Gray eyes instead locked on the scope again, the guard fearful, unaware, and positively frightened. He felt no shame as he pulled the trigger, the second shot sounding as a spray of blood rushed forth, head disappearing into an exploded mess, neck spurting what it would before the body fell away.

Easy, for now.

Time to temp fate and see what was inside.

"Alright lads, forward." Out of the sewer and into the bar, were hopefully it would be as predicted; a deserted heap.

-=-=-=-

Altair was the first to go inside; it had been decided that he would take the lead once they were inside the den, as he had the best idea of where to go, and the most accurate knowledge of the den's layout.

The door opened silently and Altair carefully stuck his head inside – as expected, and as they had hoped, he reception room plus attaching bar and pit were pretty much devoid of life. Opening the door further he slipped inside and motioned for the others to follow, sticking close to the wall and inching his way forward.

They weren't _exactly_ alone. Further up ahead he could hear the clinking of glass and bottles and a closer look revealed the source; one man, behind the bar with his back turned to them and softly humming to himself, was busy rearranging the many bottles of alcohol stacked on shelves.

And he had not noticed them yet.

Rising his hand to signal for the others to wait Altair straightened and stepped into the bar, ignoring the soft but hushed whisper of Connor telling him to come back. It didn't take long for Malik to start yelling in his ear as he walked up to the bar and placed his hands on the table, clearing his throat.

The man did not turn around and set another bottle on the shelf. “We're closed, sir. If ya want a drink, everyone's at da other bar.”

“I did not come for a drink.”

“Then whatchu wan'?” Turning the man set eyes on Altair and froze, slowly eying him up and down and taking in his appearance; the black material of his combat suit, the hood, the goggles and the mask, and most importantly... the weapons he carried. He definitely didn't look like any of the other people who came in here to watch the fights or visit the whores. “Who-”

He yelped as Altair's hand shot out and snagged the man by the collar of his shirt, yanking him forwards over the bar until he lay flat on it, and pressed the muzzle of his pistol against the man's temple. “I have a question for you.”

“Please don't kill me! Please don't kill me!”

“Shut up and listen.” The click of the safety going off was enough to reduce the man to whimpers, his trembling hands raised in a feeble attempt to defend himself. 

“I know Francesco is here somewhere. Where can I find him?”

“Please please please-”

“I don't like this anymore then you do.” Leaning forward Altair brought his face close and hissed, pressing the muzzle of his pistol a little firmer against his skull. “It tends to make me twitchy, especially my fingers. You know what I mean?”

“O-oh god u-uhm... the pit! The s-second Pit, he's overseeing the f-fight! The champion! That's all I know, I swear!”

Fuck... Francesco was where security was most tight. That was going to be a problem. “And Vieri?”

“L-last I heard he was g-going to the girls.”

“When?”

“I d-dunno! Uhm... t-twenty minutes ago or so?”

Hmz.

“P-please sir, please. I didn't do nuthin'! I jus' work at da bar!”

With a sigh Altair pulled his gun away and stuffed it back into its holster. Things had just gotten more complicated... With his hand still fisting the man's collar Altair pushed him back over the bar table until he was on his feet, only half listening to the man's frightened mumblings. “A-are you guys police? FBI?” Connor, Ezio and Haytham had moved in closer as well; Connor had his bow in hand, one arrow lined up, and Ezio had both his Desert Eagles out. Looking at them, the look in the man's eyes slowly changed as realization began to set in and he gasped. “Y-you... you guys were at Bali, weren't you?! Oh god, you are the g-guys who-”

“Pretty much.” Letting go of his collar all it took was a quick flick of his wrist; Altair could feel how the sharp blade strapped to his forearm shot out with a high _shing_ sound and pierced through skin, muscle and arteries. The man's eyes bulged and he gurgled, blood bubbling down his lips and chin. Retracting the blade Altair stepped back and watched just long enough to see the body slump down to the floor with a spray of blood, out of sight behind the bar, and he turned with a sigh. “Well... getting to Francesco is going to be more difficult than I thought. We can't storm the bar, there will be too many people for us to take out.”

Patting Ezio's shoulder, who still stared at the spot behind the bar where the man had stood not even a minute ago, Altair looked at Haytham. “Open to ideas.” 

-=-=-=-

He hadn't said a word, watching Altair, lips twitching. Exuding confidence, retrieving answers. Clever boy.

Of course such revealed an issue, mind set to task. Right, no time to dally. A difficult issue to overcome when every decision could lead to imminent death, their blood on his hands.

Without the ambush it seemed their were few possibilities. The arenas were constructed in such a way that if they should storm in they were effectively caught in a bottle neck; an onslaught on people, many armed and of notable danger would be alerted before impact was made. The tight cluster of tunnels would lead to the inevitable death of at least one of them, surely more.

"The housing area close to the lesser pit. We'll evacuate that first, Francesco can't stay put for long, not as the main proprietor. At the very least we can view who enters and exits." After they passed half the dreaded tunnel, but there was little other choice in the matter.

Altair took to leading the way, Haytham choosing the rear, unsure how Ezio's first reaction regarding a need for violence would play out. And for a moment he cursed Leonardo's design, unable to see the younger mans features. The palpable tension in his shoulders told of nothing, they were all equally tense...

Slipping into the corridor was simple enough, the clack of their shoes almost silent, the echoes only just barely there. Half way, there, almost to the fork of Francesco's office and the separate housing area, Altair stilled, halting abruptly.

The knob to Francesco's office turned.

"Son of a bitch."

"Shit."

"Merda!"

An audible laugh and double take, and one of the guards, relaxed, offered a confused look before pulling out his weapon, firing. "Who the fuck ?!"

Two of them, at least. And there they were, ducks in a row. He'd no time to think, grabbing the person nearest to him and shoving them aside, rifle loaded and at the ready when it became clear Ezio with his pistols had _froze._  
Thankfully Altair had not, and it was with a thud that bodies hit the ground, two shots fired from his gun, Haytham taking care of the other guard. "Let's go, let's go."

"What the fuck was that?"

Damn it, more men _coming?!_ Into the adjacent hall, he could see it, the door leading to the holding area of the other pit dogs, but they couldn't all make it in time, not to Francesco's office nor the adjacent hall. But Connor and Altair had already run ahead, as expected, as planned but...

Time stilled as the grenade was tossed, and Haytham began the count down, watching it leave the hand of a guard and thankfully whiz by Altair and Connor, who'd made a way to the office, firing.

Three.

By his foot. No time!

Two.

Throwing Ezio into the corridor, Malik blared into their headsets, blood rushing two loudly to make out the sound. He'd just left Connor. He just left Connor is a fucking _den._ But they were running, boots clacking, moving as far as they could from the explosive.

One.

The door was jammed and it took him running into it full force to knock it aside to escape the explosion. Altair, take care of Connor damn you, of the both of you. Ezio sprang for the door, a whirlwind of noise and he felt it, the small aftershock of the trembling ground, the boy plastered against the door, muttering what he realized when the ringing left his ears were apologies.

"Mi dispiace, I'm sorry, I froze, I, I... I'm sorry!" It continued onward, Haytham physically walking toward the frightened young man he'd come to know. "Ezio, hush. Hush now. Keep it together, you're safe." His son was another matter entirely...

-=-=-=-

Fingers fumbled with the clasp of his mask and pulled it away, gulping in the air. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! What had just happened?! A grenade? Blinking furiously Ezio looked around, smoke seeping into the room. Where was Connor? Where was Altair?!

_”Eagle, come in. What happened?!”_

Malik's voice droned on in his ear as well; he didn't answer, the question wasn't aimed at him.

Were they okay? They hadn't been caught in the explosion, had they? Fuck, this was exactly what should not have happened; getting separated! 

If only he hadn't... _chickened_ out. This was all his fault. Even if Haytham said it wasn't, he'd still feel guilty. If something had happened to Connor and Altair, if they couldn't make it out of this alive... it would be their blood on his hands.

Leonardo's voice reached his ear piece again, Ezio having completely missed Haytham's initial answer to what had happened. _“The life signs of Wolf and Osprey are fine, they are not injured. But Osprey just told me that part of the ceiling collapsed during the explosion and they can't get back to where you are. You're gonna have to decide what's best... they want to move forward and finish this.”_

Ezio slowly sat up, eyes on Haytham, and swallowed. Separated, with no way of getting back... what would they do now? Abandon the mission? But they couldn't do that, right? If they retreated now, they would _never_ get in here again. And Connor and Altair wanted to continue...

 _Goddammit..._ He had to man up! Connor had trained him for this, he couldn't chicken out a second time! Glancing down at the Desert Eagles in his hands Ezio grit his teeth and snapped his mask back in place, quickly crawling back onto his feet. “Haytham...” he whispered; his voice was a tad thicker than he would have liked and his eyes remained aimed to the floor. Fuck, he didn't dare to look at him now. “I promise I won't fuck up a second time. I hesitated and now... now _this,_ and... I'll do better, I promise. I swear.”

-=-=-=-

What had happened? A centering breath and Haytham fought to respond. He'd hardly the time to respond let alone absorb the full affect.

"An attempt to free the first compound of imprisoned peoples went awry." If one could call the images of the two men he'd trained and took part raising dashing over a grenade while he flung the other to safety simply _awry._

"The explosive that was thrown landed at my feet. Falcon and myself -" damn, he'd called Falcon Ezio minutes before, hopefully no one had heard- "are within the holding chambers of the first pit. I am... unsure as to where Osprey of Wolf have gotten to."

In laments terms, tell me they're alright.

Leonardo didn't need for it to be asked, responding. _"The life signs of Wolf and Osprey are fine, they are not injured. But Osprey just told me part of the ceiling collapsed during the explosion and they can't get back to where you are. You're gonna have to decide what's best... they want to move forward and finish this."_

Alive. Uninjured. A breath escaped him, as did a nod to no one, Haytham's attention pulled from the conversation to Ezio.

"Falcon, look at me." It may not be entirely eye to eye but that wasn't the point, Haytham stern. "This was a possibility we'd acknowledged. We knew of the possibility of separation. They're uninjured and together." Connor was in good hands, worrying now would not aid the task at hand. Their survival was on his hands, notably Ezio's.

"This was in no way your fault, Falcon. I want you to repeat that. It was not your fault. It was an unforeseen circumstance. Now you know what to expect, learn from it and apply such." Haytham need instill confidence into the boy if they were to both survive intact. A look about the cages and it was clear attention was on them, the barred areas far smaller than the ones in Bali, practically enlarged, clean kennels.

Kennels with gaunt men and haunted eyes, peering up at them.

He could but hope Ezio would heed his words as he ushered him over with a shake of his hand. The ceiling had collapsed, no one would disturb them. They'd time to set these men free without sounding an alarm.

If there was an alarm. There was no adequate layout of this area, Altair hadn't been allowed through. It seemed to expand, two separate areas, a bowl for food, one for water, and a bucket on each floor. Scared faces, curious faces, sometimes borderline oddly neutral faces, staring as their shoes barely clacked, Haytham looking at the bars grimly. "How do they open?" It was to no one in particular, silence engulfing most of the room, a few of the men lowering their heads.

"… code."

The desolate voice entranced him, Haytham stalking a few cells forward, a larger man, his eyes hollow and dead but he pointed towards the wall, at the far end. "Enter the code and the cell number."

Right. Alright. And of course, he knew the answer before he asked. "… Let me guess, Francesco knows it?"

The dead nod affirmed his worst fears, Haytham nodding. Great, just great. What now?

-=-=-=-

Ezio nodded stifly and repeated: “It's not my fault.” Still didn't mean he wouldn't feel guilty, but... this wasn't the right time for that. He needed to focus and help Haytham.

He hadn't really bothered to take a good look around... and now he wished he handed. Cages- no, more like kennels, with _people_ crammed inside like animals. Most of them were teenagers or young adults, but his stomach turned and twisted when he spotted a boy who couldn't be older than thirteen, huddled in the furthest corner of his cage, face buried in his drawn up knees.  
Most of them were injured in one way or another, bloodied, dirtied bandages around their heads, chests or arms... others were still bleeding, looking like they had just been tossed in here after a fight without any medical treatment... some were unconscious... at least, Ezio hoped they were just unconscious and not _worse._  
And those that were awake just... stared ahead, at the bars, the walls, the floor, with beaten, defeated expressions in their eyes. Like they were dead inside already.

Pit dogs. Connor hadn't been exaggerating on any of his stories at all.

It was sickening, every inch of this place. Wherever he looked, more misery, more hurt, more _suffering._ They were risking their lives for these people. Ezio hadn't been able to really paint a picture of these dens before, having nothing to go on but Connor's stories and the logs Malik had written about Bali. This was what they were fighting for; to save these poor souls and see the _beasts_ that were responsible for this be put out of business forever.

As horrible as it was to witness... it spurred him on. It made him want to do everything in his power, to try harder, with everything he had to see this through. This was more than inhumane and it needed to be _stopped_ right now!

Smacking the side of his head with his own palm Ezio blinked furiously and took a deep breath, _focus!,_ and tightened his grip in his Desert Eagles. He was aware of the eyes on him as he briskly walked forward to where Haytham stood, near another door opposite of the one they had came through.

“I guess we have to track down Francesco then and beat the code out of him.” No more dawdling. No more hesitating. Everyone who opposed him from this point forward was going to eat _lead._

-=-=-=-

"Difficult to beat a man we've no way of contacting, Falcon." Not with the ceiling decimated. They lacked another method of rejoining Connor and Altair... and while unlikely it was entirely too possible they'd killed Francesco presently.

And to interrupt them with... well he hadn't a clue as to what they were doing, but they'd the overwhelming majority of guards pitted against them. He hadn't a choice in the matter. "Osprey, Wolf." He hesitated but for a moment. "Should you come across our target, do not eliminate. The cells are highly mechanized and need a password, we've been informed he knows it."

Gun fire, a lot of it. It echoed, and it seemed to take minutes for a response. _"… you done? You didn't say over, over."_

Oh he _would._ "Osprey I'm going to personally beat the living shit out of you, over."

_"Roger that Eagle. Haven't made contact, our hands are full at the moment, get back to you shortly, over and out."_

Well, at the very least there was that. Amongst some other curious things.

Not one, but two doors. Each on a separate level. Naturally they hadn't a chance to map any of this, being unseen territory, but two additional exits seemed unnecessary. There was illumination underneath the door, Haytham blinking before motioning to Ezio. "Someone's coming."

That they were. It was impossible to hear the foot steps but as they tucked themselves behind a kennel on the far end in he entered, someone he was all too familiar with, pompous stride more of a pudgy duck waddle in person. Vieri. The door had remained open as he strut through, and from a distance he could hear it now, the small sobs of what was, undeniably, a woman.

View obstructed, he couldn't see what was grabbed, only that a guard stood at the door, waiting. "And you're sure you don't wish to go into hiding, sir?"

"Oh don't be ridiculous, my father has the situation covered. Besides, it's his problem now anyway." 

A flex of bloodied knuckles and Haytham felt his blood boil. 

"Worst come to worst, I'll just inherit an Empire. Now make sure she's bound properly, I've to make sure _I'm_ uninvolved should my father become captured." It tapered into nothingness, the door shutting but noticeably unlocked, but it gave him enough clues. Vieri played a larger role then imagined, keeping documents handy and the like...

Perhaps he knew the password. Better yet, perhaps he'd information.

The door closest them- the coast was clear as he padded through, boots almost mute as he tested the lock. It was secure, unable to properly open... it left them with the door Vieri exited from, the sole unlocked one.

They hadn't a moment to loose.

"Falcon, we're in luck. The element of surprise is ours, as is Vieri. There's a chance he may know the codes. We'll take out the surrounding guards, scare him some... he seems more avid on saving himself, I'm sure some persuasion would go a long way."

Silence for a moment and he added, softly. "You can handle this, there's probably not many guards. We take them out, we free these people, and we'll reunite with the others shortly. We try to do this as stealth-fully as possible, now on my signal." The light remained on, Haytham readying his rifle. "Three, two, one."

-=-=-=-

Offering a stiff nod Ezio swallowed tightly, his eyes fixated on the door. He could do this. He could do this! He wouldn't be alone and it was as Haytham had said, there probably wouldn't be many guards.

Probably.

Even so... he couldn't ignore the sobs coming from inside, increasing not only in volume as the seconds ticked by, but also growing more and more panicked and frantic. Whatever was going on in there, someone was getting hurt!

He locked eyes with Haytham again as he counted down from three, and on one he kicked the door open. Ezio had a few seconds to take in the scene; one large bed, with a naked, terrified girl flat on her back and tied to the bedposts. Vieri sat between her thighs, his pants already shoved down, and the four guards that were present abruptly turned around in surprise. They had walked right in on a rape session.

The crack and splatter of one skull exploding pulled Ezio out of his daze and he quickly ducked low just as Connor had taught him, to give his enemies less to aim at, and raised his Eagles. What had Connor said? Both eyes open, peer down the barrel, take a breath, brace for the throw-back and pull the trigger?

“Son of a bitch!” One of the guards fumbled with his machine gun as another went down next to him, Haytham's expertise with his Druganov rifle making quick work of them. “I'll get you, you little shit!” Almost as if in slow motion, the machine gun raised, and Ezio stared right into the barrel, ready to fire and turn his own head into nothing but another smear on the wall. On auto pilot, his own drive to survive kicking in, Ezio's fingers tightened around the triggers of his Eagles, pulling one, then the other, again, again and again, each shock racing up his arms. The guard staggered back, blood spurting from his chest and abdomen as the bullets slammed into him, shattering bone, tearing muscle and throwing him off his feet. The machine gun clattered on the floor and out of reach, his ears still ringing from the loud sound of his guns firing as the last guard dropped as well. 

He'd taken a life. He had taken a life! Ezio gasped loudly, his breath stuck in his throat and his eyes wide behind the goggles. He had killed! The Eagles nearly slipped out of his trembling fingers as the smell of gun powder and blood hit him like a brick in the face, and that's when he caught it; sudden movement to his right.

Vieri had jumped off the bed and ran towards the opposite door, trying to escape in the chaos of the gunfight; Ezio moved without thinking, his mind still locked on taking down enemies. Swinging his arm around his finger pulled the trigger again and with a deafening bang, followed by a screech, Vieri went down.

“Figlio di puttana! Andate tutti a 'fanculo! Vai a farti fottere!”

Ezio slumped against the wall and his Eagles slipped out of his fingers, ignoring the steady stream of curses coming from Vieri. His leg. He had only hit him in the leg. Let Haytham deal with that... his heart was racing so fast now it felt ready to burst!

-=-=-=-

He'd done it. What lasted only a few seconds profoundly impacted the lives of everyone in the room. Haytham could not reload quickly enough, he knew that coming in. His life and trust had fully been placed in Ezio's -hopefully capable- hands.

Correction. Make that entirely capable.

It exhausted him so, Desert Eagles clattering as he took to supporting weight against the beams. He'd done it. The splatter stood testament to such, bodies littering the floor. It wasn't a particularly luxurious room, thought he bed was seemingly large. Ropes, leather straps, devices hung about. And it's convenient location by the cells clued him in very quickly as to what this room hosted.

Perhaps it was such that drove him to thread a hand through Vieri's hair to pull him back, his flailing and cursing ignored as he took the butt of his gun and cracked him over the head, just once.

And perhaps too hard as he appeared dazed. No matter. They'd to examine the situation further, there could be more guards down the hall Vieri had tried to escape through, and the female was still tied on the bed.

"Falcon, I'm going to secure the perimeter." Door locked behind him, he grabbed a spare gun from a fallen guard, tossing such into the hallway, waiting for gun fire. There was none to be had. A further pause and his attempts to drown out the cries were turning more difficult. But securing the perimeter meant life. "Darling, listen to me." There were still no guards, just a few very curious women, perhaps girls, the revealing glimpses of skin and overly painted faces concreting who they were.

"I'll untie you in just a moment, I've to make sure there's no one else present-"

"There ain't. Ya killed them, like y-ya said."

A swift chill up his spine, and despite his better instincts and lessons he turned, if just for a moment.

Whatever Vierri said was lost on him, her slightly hysterical, continual sobs far more note worthy. Electric red hair. Fingernails disastrously long, blackened eyes rolling down tears of equal dark shade.

"Scarlet."

"I didn't think you were comin'. I didn't think you were ever gonna come back." Repulsed, fingers could not untie her quickly enough, wrists a reddened, raw mess. And that was the best of it... he need avert his eyes from the tools, the champagne bottle someone had knocked as they collapsed lay partially covered in a mix of fluids. He couldn't bare to look.

A doctor, murderer, and he could not force himself to look.

Both hands free she righted herself, the attempt to close her legs resulting in what was a combined gasp and sob. For her, Haytham. Look for her.

"I'm a doctor, retired but... a moment, alright." He could do nothing for her but if only to advise her further movements, he did look.

Labia torn. Bruising. It was difficult to peer through the mess, and he'd make no move to touch her, this was undoubtedly uncomfortable enough as she attempted to at least lift what was left of her blouse. "… There's usually more security in 'ere. Ya got lucky, everything' closed early." No further attempts to move, but she did lift the messy sheets to but to cover her opened legs, and Haytham helped the best he could.

"You're positive there's no other guards?"

"Y-Yeah. There's some clients maybe but they don't have weapons so... ya know." But as Haytham turned to investigate, smaller hands attached themselves to his arm. "Don't leave me, please. If... if someone comes in or back-"

"Darling, the ceiling has collapsed. No one is coming, I assure you." Her dark eyes no sooner fell on Vieri, who was still slightly dazed. "I don't wanna be left with him."

"You won't be. He's taking a special little trip with us." Had there been any guards, armed men, those to sound an alarm, it would have happened. He locked the door regardless, and shuffled through the pockets of a guard before handing her what was a Browning. "Don't shoot me as I come back in, alright? I'll be very disappointed."

"Y-yeah, I think I can do that."

A nod and Haytham knelt by Ezio- after kicking Vieri once for good measure- and offered an unseeable grin. "C'mon. I need you to play scary man for just a little while longer, alright?" Gripping Vieri by his hair he pulled upward, ignoring the sounds. "On your feet, I don't care if you're shot, walk it off."

"My father is going to kill you-"

"Your father is likely dead, boy. And you are soon to join him should you not follow my demands. Now up, lest I blow out your knee cap and give you something to truly cry about."

-=-=-=-

Ezio could but watch as Haytham interacted with the shaken girl. He knew her? But how- oh... _ooooh,_ this had to be that girl Haytham and Altair talked to during their first scouting trips in Sydney. Huh... what were the odds... Perhaps the girl recognized Haytham by his voice or something... he had no idea.

Nodding Ezio crawled back to his feet; his heart was still hammering away in his chest but he had it more under control now, hopefully enough so he could play the role of 'bad guy' like Haytham wanted him to. With a bit of luck Vieri hadn't seen his little break down as he lay there cursing his lungs out.

As Haytham pushed Vieri out of the room Ezio paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder at Scarlet, offering a small nod. “We'll be back soon. Promise.” Honestly, what else could he say to her? … now he felt bad for all those times he had visited the shadier areas of Florence, money in his pocket and ready for a good time. For all he knew, those girls too...

Shaking the thoughts off Ezio looked at Haytham's back again, following after him in silence until they reached the room with the kennels. Dozens of eyes looked in their direction as they entered, the prisoners who had blandly stared in front of them before now focusing their attention on Vieri. Right... _if_ Vieri knew the code to open the kennels, it was unlikely he would give it up easily and honestly, the idea of torturing information out of someone made him sick to the stomach.

But what he had witnessed today, what he had seen Vieri do... sickened him even more, and as Ezio raised his head to look at him he felt nothing but seething anger, disgust and the _need_ to make him pay. “The code to the kennels. What is it?” he asked but Vieri just sneered at him and spat on the floor.

“Fottitti.”

This was something that felt so much more familiar, he thought as he drove his fist into Vieri's stomach – he and Federico used to get into so many street fights, much to the frustration of their father. Good times.... good times that had been taken away from him, and now... he had a scape goat. 

That made playing the bad guy easier. “The code, Vieri.”

“I'm not telling you anythi- AHH FUCK!” Groaning in pain Vieri threw his head back against the wall Haytham kept him pushed up against, sharp pain lancing through his leg from where Ezio had kicked him where he had been shot.

“I can do this all day, you know.”

“Fuck you! Nothing you can do will ever make me talk!”

… funny, that was what they always said, he thought as he curled his right hand in a fist again and pulled his arm back, ready to punch... when he caught the glimmer of metal. Looking at his arm Ezio stared at the mechanism of the hidden blade strapped to his forearm. Oh.

_Right._

“I changed my mind. Beating you up is not gonna work.” he muttered as he lowered his arm again, fiddling with the mechanism and ignoring Haytham's stare as Vieri snickered.

“Giving up already, huh bastardo? You're new to this, aren't you? I can tell, so quick to toss in the towel-” Blinking Vieri almost had to cross his eyes as Ezio shoved the underside of his arm in his face, a bright light making his eyes water, and it took him a few seconds to realize what he was seeing; the strange metal contraption strapped to his arm... was crackling with electricity, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“It has a built in tazer.” Ezio explained, stepped back slightly so Vieri could see. “Quite a powerful one too if I am to believe our engineer. I haven't tested it out on a living being yet, and you're as good as any. So...” Looking at Haytham he waited until he let go of Vieri, and Ezio quickly kicked the Italian's legs out from underneath him, quite easy as he was already wobbling, and quickly forced the cursing man flat on the ground. “The code, Vieri.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you and your bitch mother- wait. What are you doing?” Vieri's eyes were wide as saucers as he looked down at the tazer, now hovering inches above his groin. Ezio fixed him with an even stare as he waited; in a far away corner of his mind he was more than aware that what he was doing right now really was no better than what some of these people did, at least in his eyes. But this had to happen. Vieri needed to _talk_ in case Connor and Altair couldn't get it out of Francesco.

He needed to do this, even if this would most likely result in some heavy nightmares tonight. Haytham was counting on him. Hell, these poor people were counting on him. And he _would_ do this. ”Well?”

“Don't you dare!”

“Give me the code.”

“Don't you fucking dare-” Vieri's scream echoed through the room and bounced off the walls as Ezio pressed the tips of the tazer into his groin, keeping it firmly in place as the Italian trashed and bucked under him, currents of electricity shooting through his body. It really only lasted for a few seconds before he pulled back, but he was sure that for Vieri it had felt much longer as his body slumped back to the floor, twitching uncontrollably. His lips were pulled back into a pained grimace, his expression scrunched up in pain, a tear making it's way down his temple until it dribbled into his hair.

Ezio could not imagine how much it had to hurt to have your penis electrocuted, and he hoped he would never have to find out... but it was a given that he would do it again if Vieri didn't give them want they wanted. “Ready to talk now?”

No answer, and Ezio sighed. “You know, if you didn't _know_ the code you would have told us so already. So just _tell_ me.”

A furious glare was all he received as an answer and Ezio felt his eyebrow twitch. Oh come on! “We all have one of these.” he muttered, nodding at his bracer as he fumbled with the one attached to his other arm, switching off the safety before raising both arms towards Vieri. “But our genius engineer also gave me the fully functional prototype. How about a double dose, Vieri, for double the time? Will that finally loosen your tongue enough to not just squeal like a gutted pig, but tell me and my amico Eagle here what we're after?”

Vieri behaved pretty much as expected, wide open eyes locked on both tazers as he scrambled backwards over the floor until he bumped against the wall. Ezio followed after him, avoiding a desperate kick aimed at his face, and brought both tazers close again.

“Last chance.”

-=-=-=-

Pride. Perhaps the undulating scene should not invoke such. While far from the kindest person, Haytham never considered himself a sadist, yet Vieri's fear- tangible, thick- was music to the ear. Perhaps Ezio's own abilities increased when personally exposed to the horrors of the pits first hand. No matter, he hadn't the time to dwell, offering the lad a squeeze on the shoulder.

"Vieri, amnesty. The chance to escape. Surely you've realized no one will aid you." 

Eyes darted, rapidly between the two, Ezio ready for the next strike. "You're making this exceedingly difficult. This is your last chance for freedom, or rather you die- like your father- for his sins?"

A lie, and an easy one to tell before the silence reigned, Haytham offering an audible sigh. "Very well then-"

" T-The seventh of January, n-nineteen ninety-two." A pause and Haytham blinked one, moving to the keypad and typing, 07011992.

A click, a buzz and it happened spontaneously. Each cell,each door clicked in unison. Granted an alarm also sounded but it would do no good. No guards would come, no matter what Vieri's pompous face betrayed.

And it was his own tazer that shot out, two small end strapping to what he figured was genitalia, before he pressed the button and held for a count of five. "For trying to alert guards." He explained over the squealing to Ezio, before shutting the tazer with a frown, ignoring the cries.

Perhaps that's what they feared too, these prisoners of the pits. He was unused to the lack of echo as boots clacked, but no matter. In the center of the room, arms behind his back, he said it loudly.

"To your freedom, gentleman. The sewers will guide you thusly." Such hesitance... he understood it, truly. Here was masked man, treading upon their territory, claiming freedom. The unspoken rang forth, and he stood, waiting for the first man to exit. Moments and moments after no guards burst forth, the fear waned, and it was still what seemed ages later that the first tentative push to a cell was made, the thick, pristine gray bars slowly opening.

No guards. No weapons.

"Do not alert the authorities, we will do that for the others ourselves." 

It was a clash of opening gates and the whine of heavy bars, men trickling, then pouring out of their cells, most to leave, others to join an incapable comrade, and a few to stare with a burning hatred at the man on the floor, jaws clenched.

And he addressed it with a nod. "To be taken care of, by a person he wronged horribly." When he was met with a scowl he simply pointed towards the upper room, and for the most part their gazes softened. Even the ones who still seemed agitated accepted it, though no one could stop a few spitting in Vieri's direction.

Well he _could_ stop them. He just could not locate a reason to do so.

"Falcon, I leave you to make sure they find the exit, those who can. I've one last thing to care for." A hand fisted short hair before pulling. "Stand." The order was barked, and when Vieri did not, Haytham forced him to, half carrying the man up the stairs.

"You promised amnesty!" A hiss as he struggled. "I didn't start these pits! My father, on the seventh of January in-"

"Nineteen ninety-two, yes yes. And I'm not punishing you for the sins of your father at any rate." Though they were indubitably his own. No, he'd someone else who needed justice.

He didn't bother to close the door, tossing Vieri onto the floor. Scarlet hadn't moved much, although she tested her wobbling legs, hand flat against a wall to support herself. "How did you know it was me?"

The smallest of laughs and she spoke, softly. "Don't have a lot of customer with posh accents, not outside the pits."

Hm, they'd need voice synthesizers then. No matter, it worked in his favor this time. She wobbled horribly, frowning at what were, for all intents and purposes, cement blocks on her feet, heel atrociously high. He watched each one hit the floor. 

She was bloody tiny, hardly up to his own chest, and while tall, he was hardly strappingly huge. It only added to the seeming frailty, her large brown eyes gazing at Vieri, face twisted in a blur of emotion.

"You freed them, and they didn't want his head?" 

"I managed to convince them someone was more... worthy perhaps of the honor."

She'd removed the earrings in his absence. And the rings. Her makeup remained a blended mix of bruising and smeared mess, but the lipstick was gone. He wished he'd a jacket to lend her, it was unintentionally that he noticed she was busty, and the urge to look elsewhere struck him, if only for proprieties sake. The once bunched skirt had been flattened, covering what it could, and he offered his hand.

She took it with little resistance, and next to be offered, with his other-

"No, I'm not going to let that whore get the better of me! " Across the floor Vieri scurried, only for Haytham to shut the open door with his foot, her trembling noted. "Do you know who I am? Bitch, remember your fucking place-"

"Shut the fuck up!" He hadn't expected her to respond, neither of them had, and it was witnessing that flame in her eyes that he realized he misdiagnosed her fear.

It was that, yes. But it ran deeper.

"Do you remember when we were kids, and you had such a crush on me? And I told you, for the twentieth fucking time, that I was not interested in you? You remember, what I said? Get in line, like the others, because you weren't any different-"

"And that was your first mistake, bitch-"

"Interrupt me again and I'll show you who the _bitch_ is here, _bitch."_

Well... this was escalating quickly. She didn't know how to hold a gun properly but the confidence she exuded was _dashing._ Haytham merely leaned against the wall behind him, watching her turn to him, gestures a bit erratic, twitchy.

"Can we break his teeth if he interrupts me again? I have shit to say."

"Oh _yes."_ The enthusiasm in his voice was tangible, his hand guiding her to stand as she swayed. Now he /wanted/ him to talk.

"You stupid whore-"

"I'm not stupid. And I wasn't always a _whore._ You kidnapped me, threatened me, took... took everything from me, all because I didn't want to be yours for an evening! Because I had that much respect for myself and knew I could do better!"

One needn't look to feel the fury, a hand furiously swatting tears away. "They're gone now, and I have no idea _where._ My cousins, my parents... I was only fifteen! I was a fuckin'... kid..."

This was why he was here. Collapsing in upon herself the sobs left her, and with that the fire she had. "I hate you so much, I hate you, I hate you..."

One could taste the remorse, thick on the tongue. Haytham's arms offered a sanctuary if for the moment, and she wept into them, murmuring. "I want this to be over. It's a nightmare, the last four years have been a nightmare and I wanna wake up."

His eyes never left Vieri but his arms remained around her, voice soft as she cried what he hoped was her last. 

"It is over, darling. Or it will be, momentarily." 

The gun that loosely dangled from her fingers... Haytham brought it closer, and she peered over his shoulder. "… I'm shaking, ya know? I'm... they got me on meth."

Meth? Why meth? Most would have gone with rufinol-

"Keeps me awake... for everything."

He swore he heard a tooth crack, but perhaps not. Although a sizable split in his lip was surely present, copper overwhelming his taste buds. She turned away from him, and indeed, her shaky hands could hardly hold the small gun, Vieri's eyes wide as he attempted to scurry. Haytham could but cover her hands with his own, murmur soft. "I won't let you falter."

"I can't stop crying. I can't see straight."

"That's alright." One finger, next to hers, over the trigger. "I will be your guide."

"You can't do this to me! You can't do this!" The door rattled, and Haytham waited patiently. "Where shall I take aim?"

"His mouth." She buried a comment, breathing slowing, and he aimed for such, even as he moved about, cursing, struggling. "At your ready, darling."

A crack. Not a moment after and through his grit teeth, straight through his skull. A scatter of chipped bone across the floor, and Haytham thought to pull away but soon after the gun was cocked and another bullet left. And another. It was cocked and shot until the clip was emptied, and he watched as each splatter became less human. What was left of the skull was an unrecognizable paste, and even then she tried to fire, empty coil making a soft noise.

There weren't enough bullets to right this, and she fell this time to her knees, perhaps emotionally exhausted.

"It's over, Scarlet." 

But she shook her head, and fingers furiously threaded through her hair. "He named me that." Her head shook with disdain. "I'm not even a fuckin' red head. It's dyed." 

He'd thought as much, the electric color did not match the soft brown of her eyebrows. "Apologies. I'd call you by your given name if given chance."

It was murmured and he shook his head. "A thousand pardons?"

"Cristina. Cristina Vespucci."

-=-=-=-

Hearing Vieri finally say what they wanted to hear came as a relief, as it meant he could finally back off and let Haytham take control of the situation again. 

The doors of the kennels audibly clicked as they were unlocked and it was with quite a bit of hesitation that the prisoners crawled out of them, towards freedom. 

“Falcon.”

Ezio turned and blinked at Haytham.

“I leave you to make sure they find the exit, those who can. I've one last thing to care for."

Oh... like, go out there alone and see these people to safety? Ah, but there were no guards, at least not in this part of the den. “Y-yeah, okay.” He watched how Haytham dragged Vieri back up and then, with one last glance in his direction, left the room.

Well then... “That way.” He pointed a finger to the door they had originally came from, leading back to the collapsed hallway; Ezio was well aware of the eyes on him as he walked towards it, checking the amount of bullets in his Eagles and replacing them with full ammo clips – just in case. It wouldn’t hurt to be paranoid in this case.

Opening the door he peeked inside and immediately glanced to where the ceiling had fallen down, but he hadn't really expected to see a sign of Connor and Altair. Hadn't heard from them yet either, but no news was good news in this case, right? If something had happened to them, Malik or Leonardo would let them know. They were probably doing fine... Altair was intelligent and experienced, and Connor was like a tank. They'd be fine...

The pit dogs trickled after him as he led the way back to the bar, wary and cautious of any danger. It didn't take long before the questions came. Who were they? Where did they come from? Why were they doing this? Ezio knew better than to tell them the truth for their own safety, but these people looked at him with so much awe and gratitude in their eyes, it was hard not to satisfy their understandable curiosity.

“Are you FBI? Did the government sent you?”

“No, we're uh... self funded.”

“Really? How many of you are there?”

“Six, though only four of us are actually inside. The other two provide support from a distance.”

“Only six?!”

“Uhuh.”

One of them eyes him with narrowed eyes, an older fellow, holding the hand of the younger boy he'd seen earlier. “Are you responsible for Bali and Brazil too?”

Ah, so they had heard about that. The man must have guessed his train of thought and added; “Heard that asshole Vieri complain about it. Both dens were taken out of business and the prisoners saved. Was that you?”

Oh shit, now he had to be careful. “I... wasn't present at those to be honest. Bali was us though. Brazil was... that other guy.”

“Ah yes, Kenway. I heard he dragged the whole army with him to get his boy out.”

Ezio nodded slowly – that was a little over-exaggerated but close enough. Whatever made them believe that 'Kenway' wasn't affiliated with them in any way whatsoever. “Kenway brought it to light. That's when we stepped in after we learned the government wouldn't do anything.” he muttered.

“Figures...”

The bar was empty when they entered, and it came as no surprise when some of the pit dogs immediately stepped over the corpse of the bartender Altair had killed earlier and began pulling alcohol bottles off the shelves, passing them around. Haytham had said to lead them to the sewers, but wouldn't it be safer for them to have them wait here until they were done and the authorities could be called in? Most of them were injured and all of them were weakened... what could they do out on the street except risk more injury, or early exposure? Couldn't have them alert the police before they were ready.

Fortunately they agreed when he explained as much, watching them settle on the sofas and in plush chairs, sipping whiskey and scotch. They'd be safe here for now. 

“I have to go back. Eagle is waiting for me.” As he walked back many of the prisoners droned around him, shaking his hands and clapping him on his back, murmuring whispers of thank-yous. This is what they were doing this for, to see the relief and happiness on these people's faces, knowing that they were free again. They still had a long way to go, but they were _free._  
He could only imagine what he - _they_ \- must look like to these people, like damn wannabe superheroes maybe.

Back in the hallway Ezio broke off into a run, back to the kennel room. Had Haytham finished Vieri off already, or was he interrogating him further? He had taken him back to the room that girl was at but he couldn't quite imagine _why_ he'd done so. He probably had his reasons...

In the kennel room he raised a finger to his communicator, about to inform Haytham that he was about to enter, and that was when he saw the door neither of them had noticed before, wedged in the wall between two rows of kennels. Frowning Ezio glanced towards the door Haytham was behind and then looked back at the other door again, lowering his hand. Perhaps there were more kennels behind that door, more people in need of rescue. He had to check.

Struggling to keep his nerves under control, pistols in hand, Ezio opened the door as silently as he could and peered into the short hallway that lay behind it, tapering off into another open doorway further up ahead. And already he could see that that wasn't another kennel room, but something much... worse. Thick smears of old blood painted a trail over the floor towards the other room, and while every nerve in his body screamed at him to go back to Haytham because this felt _wrong,_ morbid curiosity pushed him to check it out.

His heartbeat was thrumming in his ears, his breathing so loud there was no way someone wouldn't hear if he wasn't alone as he slowly edged closer to the open doorway. And with every step he was more and more convinced that there was something... _ugly_ in that room.

It wasn't large, smaller than he had expected, and it was the smell that hit him first. Gagging Ezio shook his head, eyes watering behind the glass of his goggles and he looked around in what he could only describe as a room of horror.

There was blood everywhere, most of it old and dried, except for a few fresher, brighter puddles in a corner. There was a pile of _something_ there, a heap more like, covered by a dirty bloody blanket, and Ezio barely managed to swallow back a whimper as he stared at the limp arm that wasn't covered; bodies. There were bodies under there!

There was a metal table, eerily similar to a table one would perform autopsies on, complete with a drain for fluids, and a raised edge so nothing would drip off. But what really caught his attention was the metal contraption taking up most of the back of the room. It resembled an old fashioned oven, huge, something that wouldn't look misplaced in a crematorium, with a large closed hatch in the front. A pipe led away from the oven and disappeared into the wall, probably there to drain the smoke away to god knows where, and there was a note pinned to the hatch, stating in big bold letters; **'No more than three bodies at once.'**

Staggering back Ezio's back hit the tiled wall behind him, his eyes near impossible wide. Now he recalled something that he had seen on TV, a documentary about the Brazil den and the raid Haytham had been responsible for. He'd seen it a few weeks before Altair had come knocking on Leonardo's door.  
That den had featured something very similar like this; an incinerator they had called it, to get rid of the bodies of those killed in the pits.

That's what this was for. That's who those bodies were! Prisoners who had died... they must have been preparing to burn them when they entered the den!

Wrenching his eyes away from the horrid sight – though it had already been burned into his mind's eye – Ezio staggered back towards door, ripping his mask off and spitting on the floor before pressing a finger against his communicator. “E-Eagle!”

Dio, he hadn't wanted to see this!

-=-=-=-

Cristina. The name would ingrain itself to memory. "Cristina, authorities will arrive in due time. Will you wait here?"

"Can I wait with the other girls?" 

"Of course." He hadn't been literal, but watching her shiver, it wasn't the proper time to bring such to light. Instead she took the offered hand and limped, opening the shut door, making her way into the hall. Stares, evidently the shots had been heard, with a couple dozen women around, either obviously watching or standing in doorways, their eyes barely visible.

 "… Is he... really dead?" A nod was offered their way, Cristina sniffling before pointing. "See for yourself."

And that they did, some peaking over his shoulders, gasping, and some silent, nodding in approval. It wasn't until moments later that several eyes landed on him, and he blinked, uncertainly, from behind the shield of his goggles. "Yes-oof!"

It was a body slam of a multitude of hugs, of loud thank you's and the occasional sobbed gratitude. Right, yes, they'd _freed_ them. To be expected.

As was his stiffening at the sign of outward affection, Haytham forever grateful for a mask that obscured the mounting flush. "I've to be leaving, Falcon has yet to make contact-"

"No, stay for a minute!"

"He's _rock hard_ under his suit! Like, like muscles I mean."

"I bet he's handsome."

"Like a mix between James Bond and Tom Hiddleston?"

"He's gotta be, he made it this far."

"Listen to his accent, it's so posh."

"That accent, that cute butt!" He could not jump any higher as fingers pinched, a bunch of giggles before the culprit withdrew her hand, sheepishly. "Couldn't resist!"

Goodness he'd expected so much more... solemn behavior. While there was concern for Cristina's injuries they almost ignored the carnage, and with a disturbing realization, he concurred this was normal for them. "My darlings, it's been a pleasure, truly, but I need to investigate the area for-"

 _"E-Eagle!"_ The horrified voice struck him, as did it's echo, Haytham's attempts to distance himself more prominent. "Ladies stay put a moment, it's urgent, alright?"

While still unwilling, Cristina cleared her throat, nudging him. "Yeah girls, I've seen his face." He paused, turning, but her next word were enough. "Think Tom Hiddleston's accent, Thor's body, Pierce Bronson's double-o- seven suaveness with a touch of that whole fatherly Robert Downey Junior thing."

Yes, right, whatever kept them distracted, even if it was liable. Their fascinated oh's and squeals of delight were lost on him. "Falcon, are you alright?" He heard the echo, he had to be close by, and he asked Hawk, quickly. "Falcon's vitals alright?"

A frown and Malik responded. _"Heart rate increasing steadily, the rest of him is fine. Is he lost?"_

"No he's in my sights, just unresponsive." Stairs clattered beneath him, Haytham blinking as he readily saw Ezio's face. What in the hell was he thinking?

"Boy, have you lost your mind, there may be cameras-" Upon further inspection perhaps he need differ in approached. Panicked, breathing erratic, wide eyed and noticeably shaken as Ezio came stumbling out of the room, Haytham could only remain perplexed. No visible enemies, and he seemed uninjured... perhaps the pits were too much for him, the lad was falling apart at the seams. "Falcon, mask on. C'mon, you've put yourself in enough danger." It was firm, even as he examined the door he leaned upon, curiously prying it open.

The smell. Behind his mask he coughed, and now... now he was _curious._ And he took a few steps, alone, examining the splatters of thick liquid, old and new. The smell only intensified, reaching a pinnacle as he stood, not so much perplexed as he was dumbfounded, thick slabs of tissue, drainage pipes. It was an unthawed meat locker, bloodied heap in the corner sporting a protruding hand.

This is what he'd seen, alone. On his first den. Shit. "Lion, this is Eagle. When Falcon returns, be prepared for a few nights of bunking."

A pause and Malik and Leonardo looked at one another, Leonardo responding. _"What has happened, Eagle?"_

"The stuff of nightmares, lad. No need for more detail then that, Falcon will undoubtedly fill you in later."

Indeed, he would. Haytham stalked from the horror of the room quickly, allowing the door to shut behind him with a clack. And immediately he sought out Ezio, unsure, but what he witnessed said enough.

"Let's get you out of here lad." It was enough. He'd peek into the unlocked door briefly, and they could leave. Perhaps it was a fools notion, but he offered Falcon his hand, waiting. "C'mon, we're almost done."

-=-=-=-

Oh no, no, don't go in there!

He wanted to grab Haytham, yank on his sleeve, pull on his arm, anything to keep him from opening that door again and witness what lay behind! The gore, the bodies, the stench of _death._  
But Ezio couldn't stop him and as soon as the door opened he turned away so he wouldn't have to see it a second time. He'd seen enough to last him a lifetime.

_“Ez-... Falcon?”_

Closing his eyes Ezio swallowed thickly, Leonardo's voice in his ears, questioning, worried. His hands were trembling so badly he almost missed the button of his communicator. “Y-yeah... I'm here.”

Silence on the other end, and Ezio could almost see how Leonardo shared a look with Malik, getting a small nod before leaning into his microphone again. _“I'll be here for you when you get back, okay? We all will, once this is over.”_

“Grazie...”

_“Take care, amico. See you soon.”_

“S-si.”

With a click their communication cut off and Ezio took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. That room really was the stuff of nightmares, and he had no doubt it would haunt him for a while... but Leonardo was right. They were all there for each other, and so they would be there for him as well. 

Haytham reemerged from the room, closing the door with a fast click and Ezio quickly clasped his mask back in place. He was still shaken up and more than eager to get out of here, and while the offered hand was... surprising to say the least, he took it after a moment of hesitation. “Sorry...” he muttered. “I thought that... I saw the door and thought that there might be more prisoners here.” Stupid, he knew... he should have waited for Haytham to check the room with him instead of going in alone. He sure as hell had learned this lesson the hard way.  
“I left the others at the bar. I figured they would be safer in there waiting for us to call in the authorities than sending them off into the sewers with those kind of injuries.”

There was one last thing that bothered him though.

“What about Wolf and Osprey? Aren't we going to wait for them though?”

-=-=-=-

Hm? Well that was quite alright, the sewers would undoubtedly worsen infection. It was more for comfort really then sanitary finding, he'd wished to flee Queen Anne's square immediately after the happenings that occurred. It seemed almost trivial in comparison.

And still, the lurkings behind the door. Eyes darted to Ezio, his covered face giving nothing away, but his form was wracked with tension. There was a room, with something inside, the likes of which he hadn't a clue.

Fingers threaded through Ezio's, his voice cleared. "They know the way out, there were other tunnels. It is nothing we can concern ourselves with. You, however-" He hid it well, his fear. Perhaps the shock of death aided such, given his own familial history. No matter. He guided with a soft patter, thumb stroking a pattern over covered knuckles. He'd large hands for a boy his size, much like a pup. All paws and teeth, still growing.

"Have I ever gave mention to the moment I accidentally shot Wolf while we were hunting?" Through the swarm of men, tipsy, watching but non-agressive, he slipped past with a short nod, ignoring the curious gazes. Yes, the man toting the sniper rifle was now walking out with his hand clutching that of another. An oddity if one was ever witnessed.

And still his story progressed. "Back when we'd hardly made acquaintance, almost... two years ago? I hadn't known the lad but for a few months, and Ziio so desperately wanted us to bond- watch your feet, I needn't be splashed with god knows what; lift them- yes, that’s better, no dragging about- where was I? Right, Ziio has wanted us to become better acquainted-"

What had started, and was a disgusting trip, had shortened considerably, Haytham finishing the tale as he let Ezio's hand go, watching him ascend the ladder before following. "He still rubs the damn thing from time to time, I'd always felt guilty but it's not such a horrid scar." At it gave him something to lick, but he needn't describe that.

It was a short walk to the van, a little hurry in their steps despite the cover of nightfall. They were welcomed in quickly, despite the stench, Haytham removing his mask and blinking. Bath, bath, bath! Every inch of him screamed for one, but it was clear that was impossible momentarily.

Connor and Altair had yet to arrive. No surprise given they'd the majority of guards but... still.

He stayed near Ezio regardless, though his eyes locked on the door, cut lip stinging at he bite hard. "Any word from them?"

"Not recently, no, lots of action." Oh he was sure. 

Leonardo's kind eyes focused on Ezio, voice soft. "You did well." 

And Haytham could only concur, despite a mind overburdened with thought. "That he did. You gentleman have a knack for making me proud, and that's not an easy task to accomplish. Well done." Now if only Altair and Connor would get back...

-=-=-=-

Heh... so that was what that scar on Connor's shoulder was. He'd seen it before of course, though he'd ever bothered to ask where it had come from; Ezio had always assumed it was part of his time spent in Brazil, just like the cut over his chest and the bump of a crookedly-healed rib.

But no, Haytham had actually – accidentally – shot him with his own bow during a time they were far from close, like they were now. It really wasn't funny, but the lighthearted tone in Haytham's voice as he told the story made him feel comfortable enough his lips still twitched up, amused. Clearly it was something that didn't bother the man at all, at least not anymore.

Relief washed over him when they finally exited the sewers and climbed out of the manhole, breathing in the fresh, clean air. The van was still parked where they had left it; from the outside it looked like any regular van, nothing special, certainly nothing that would draw attention, but on the inside... wires and machinery and gadgets and maps and screens and lights, _everywhere._

Most prominent were the four biggest screens, divided in two rows of two. Quickly shrugging off his mask, goggles and weapons, tossing them on a narrow table Ezio sat down on the floor next to Leonardo's chair, as closely as he could, and stared at the screens. Each screen depicted a name, one for each, a health-line taking up most of the space, as well as various rows of numbers rolling on the side. He was pleased to see that the health-lines of Connor and Altair were still going strong.

“What did you see?” Leonardo's voice was soft and fingers gently pushed his hood back, stroking through his hair and pulling out the tie, letting it fall loose around his shoulders.

“I'd rather not say yet...” Still too fresh... he wouldn't keep secrets from Leonardo, but he didn't feel ready to talk about it yet. Instead he leaned into the fingers, his eyes on the screens. Leonardo had always been of the touchy kind, always surprising him with random hugs and embraces, something the others weren't immune to either. Even Malik had gotten his fair share of Leo-hugs already.

“No rush. Whenever you're ready.” the artist murmured and looked at the screens again. “I'm thinking of mounting some hidden cameras in your goggles, for next time. Just in case... it was Malik's idea.”

Malik's rely was a short “Hm.” It made sense. Right now they had no idea where Altair and Connor were exactly, and they hadn't answered for a while now. He reached out with one hand and turned the volume buttons of the sound systems connected to Altair's and Connor's communication set.

All they could hear was gunfire.

-=-=-=-

~*~

-=-=-=-

He wanted a fucking cigarette. Crouching down, behind a massive pillar surrounding the stadium walls, being shot at for the umpteenth time. Just a few feet over, Connor remained in the same situation, Altair chewing on the inside of his cheek. Little fucker who collapsed the ceiling, well, he appreciated Connor's tomahawk to the head well enough. And Franceso had fled like a total pussy, and rank and file before him were his flunkies. And some of 'em collapsed easy, sure, but into the main arena, with past the hallways... well they'd been shit outta luck, forcing his hand.

"Fire in the hole, cunts!" Holding the grande for a count of three it flew, and he pulled the door shut as he heard the surprise before the explosion. Off guard and under siege. Without Haytham it was the best they could do.

It's what landed them in the neck of shit, after Altair had fucked with good ol' Eagle, just to show yeah, yeah they were fine... for now. At least these men weren't trained by ex army men, that was for sure. Their rapid fire and shit aim was almost funny... except that they had machine guns. And the pillar was taking a massive hammering. Yeah, a lot less amusing.

"C'mon, run outta bullets or jam." Sure there was another grenade handy but he'd rather not risk the pillar collapsing, if it was a support beam. Francesco wasn't far, they'd catch up. Fucker didn't have many places to go.

That's right- the quiet click and a moment later it was his own gun that fired, but with that thing they didn't have; accuracy.

The neck sufficed, the gurgling drowned out as a fountain gushed, but Altair didn't have a chance to admire it, not that he really wanted to. "That makes twelve, puppy." Reloading the clip he hoped Connor could feel him stick his tongue out. "Catch up Wolf, or I'm gonna old yeller ya. We got seven to go." Before they could find Francesco. Infiltrate, take some info, kill the fucker- hey wait, that reminded him- "Yo, Eagle. Still need the numbers from Francesco right, over?"

Blinking, a breath escaped Haytham. _"We're already in the van, feel free to obliterate your target."_

Heh. Well cool. He'd ask later. "That's a big ten four, over." Heh, he had no idea what that meant, but ug... "Wolf, we're good to go in for the kill when we leave, let's get crackin'."

-=-=-=-

Connor's left eyebrow twitched as he fingered his bow from behind the relative safety of a pile of rubble, ducked low enough to avoid the rain of bullets. Puppy?

_Puppy?!_

Oh he _wouldn't._ “Twelve? Oh no.” No no no, liar. “Most of those 'twelve' you killed with that grenade just now. That still only counts as _one.”_ It was only too unfortunate that his mask hid his smirk from view. Ah, he shouldn't have watched Return of the King a few days ago... it was just _too easy._

Lining up an arrow Connor sat up slightly and flashed Altair a wink: “Puppy my ass. I'm a fucking alpha.” and straightened; it barely took him a second to aim and let go, the arrow making a very satisfying _thunk_ as it pierced a guard's skull, sending the man toppling backwards. He'd been practicing a lot with his trusty Gamemaster bow, mostly focusing on his reloading speed and his aiming. The guard next to the one that had just fallen with an arrow sticking out of his left eye-socket barely had time to react before Connor fired another one, nailing him in the throat. He went down with a horrible gurgle and Connor fistpumped the air before ducking down again with a satisfied “yes!”

Pfft. He didn't need no stinkin' grenades. This was why he was a badass wolf, and Altair only a stupid ball of feathers.

Five more to go. He could tell that the remaining guards were getting desperate, their shooting still as crooked as it was before, their aim just as bad. It looked like they were too scared to turn and run; one tried and had found himself with an arrow in his back seconds later. Another tried as well, but Altair had made quick work of that one. Honestly he had expected... better, considering how well organized the Sydney den was. Really, these guards were nothing special, it was almost too easy, Connor thought as he picked off another one, Altair doing the same until there was only one guard left, cowering behind a pillar.

Just _one._

Connor slowly turned his head and glared at Altair, narrowing his dark brown eyes and shook his head. Oh no. No no no. “He's mine. Don't you even dare!”

-=-=-=-

His? HIS? Psh, fuck that noise!

Gun unholstered it took him just a few seconds to cock, aim, and shoot the son of a bitch straight through the skull. And an arrow landed in his eye socket like a millisecond later, so besides the point. His kill, not Connors.

"Boo yah bitch! Now _that_ counts as one." Return of the King was awesome, even better on that giant big screen with a bucket o' popcorn in the middle of the living room. But back to business, the last corpse fell and they were free to find Francesco. 

And kill him like he so deserved.

"'Kay, he went through that door." A dead end, or something like that. This place was damn huge, sprawling halls and pits everywhere. At the end of the second pit was the room with multiple computers, disks, hard drives....

That Francesco could very well be destroying.

All the more reason to hop to it. 

"Alright Wolf, our objective, infiltrate is a check, find Francesco, kill 'im, get the info, leave, kay?" With the guards dead after what was a solid hour or two of shooting, it was a relief to be able to walk up to Connor and boop the spot where his nose was, playfully. "Puppums is being so good not running off, Imma tell Eagle to give you an ear rub-"

 _"Would you two shut up and move on! I've been waiting in the van smelling of raw sewage for the past five minutes listening to jabber."_ Haytham's voice rang out, Leonardo snickering. 

_"Kill the bastard, get the info, get out, this isn't a Halo."_

A blink and Altair waited, smirking. "Is your tirade over... over."

He could practically hear Haytham facepalm, and he did hear him sigh. _"... We should have named you dodo. It's far more adequate. Now move your arses, children."_

Children? Ah, whatever. "Only because you might kick my ass after this, Eagle." In all fairness the guy was right, and he _did_ have his emotionally volatile, bear sized child with him. Eh, he'd let the snippyness slide, it was the equivalent of 'I'm worried now get back here' anyway, you just had to learn the lingo. 

"Alright Wolf, before we give Eagle a heart attack." They took of jogging in the general direction, wary of the shut door. Hopefully Francesco hadn't trashed everything yet, they'd been held up for a bit.

-=-=-=-

Pfft. Yes dad. So they were back in the van already? It... was strange, realizing both Haytham and Ezio, but mostly Haytham, were back in a safe place, and he was still here, trapped inside a den. Of course he had Altair with him but it was still... strange.

Shaking it off Connor followed after Altair, tomahawk in hand but it seemed like they had truly killed every guard in the vicinity.

The door leading to the room with computers (tech room, he'd just call it a tech room) was closed, but with a  
few good solid hard hits it flew open, banging against the wall hard enough to leave a dent. The lights were off, but it seemed devoid of people. There were half a dozen computers here, along with a few scattered laptops; it almost resembled something like a... a call center or something. The long desks, the office chairs, the abandoned headsets and phones... shit, imagine the stuff on those computers, the _information!_ This was like a gold mine! “Osprey, this is...” Whistling Connor tapped his communicator. “Wolf to Eagle, Falcon, Lion, Hawk. We just found hit jackpot. Over.”

_“Hawk here, what did you find?”_

“Computers. Lots and lots of computers. Makes me think of a call center.”

_“Hold on.”_

Nodding Connor walked over to the nearest desk and shuffling through the pile of papers that lay next to the keyboard, hoping to find something worth while. Nothing so far, just long lists of names... probably of the sick bastards who came here to watch the fights. While of no real use to them, he could imagine they could be useful to the police later. “Your buddy Steven is on this list.” he muttered, tapping his finger on the printed name before his communicator buzzed and Malik's voice filled his ears.

_“I've just discussed with Eagle. After you take care of Francesco try to take out the hard drives. There's probably some useable stuff on there, and it doesn't seem like a good idea to let the authorities get a hand on any information on them.”_

“Got it. Wolf out.” Francesco first, computers later. The question was, where was he? “Osprey, do you have any idea-”

He could not finish his sentence: the computer closest to him exploded and he was nearly thrown off his feet, having to turn away to avoid the sharp pieces of metal and shrapnel. What the hell?!

“You'll never get me! I'll tear this whole place down and you along with it!”

Recognizing the voice Connor carefully peeked over the edge of the desk, the remains of the computer sparking and smoking next to him, and saw a wild mob of long black hair; Francesco, hiding behind the desk furthest away from them, shotgun in hand... and he was taking aim. Another computer exploded, close to Altair this time, and Connor cursed loudly as he ducked behind cover. Shit, now what?

-=-=-=-

Son of a _bitch._ Ducking behind the nearby, long desk, Altair took the briefest of moments to examine the weapon of choice, exhaling. Shot gun. This mother fucker...

Yeah, it did a lot of damage but that was the great thing about a shot gun, double barreled or not; he needed to reload. Two computers down, Altair bit his lip, listening to him begin to shuffle. Now was the chance.

Out of the sheath on his arm, he ignored the blade in favor of the tazer, genuinely surprised at how quickly he reloaded, gun almost ready. It was a practical dead lock, a trickle of sweat trailing his temple, tazer leaving and hooking into flesh before he cocked his gun.

The affects were immediate, the loaded gun dropping thankfully without a misfire, the sounds of gurgling loud, tension pouring through the body before him. And perhaps he let it go for a bit longer then necessary, eying Connor, the exploded bits of shrapnel around them. "… You okay, Wolf?" He looked alright, but it could never hurt. And the hesitance in Connor's response- whether just genuine shock or actual pain- made no difference to Altair.

He upped the voltage to max. The trickle of blood that dripped from clenched teeth brought him no guilt nor pleasure, and he only retracted when Francesco began foaming at the mouth.

"Wolf." He nudged Connor with his foot, wary. "… shrapnel didn't get ya, did it?"

-=-=-=-

Connor shook his head after a few more moments of silence. No... no, he wasn't hurt. Not really. His ears were ringing but other than that... he'd have to thank Leonardo again later, he thought as he felt down over his shoulder, touching the few pieces of torn metal that had gotten stuck in the protective kevlar layering of his suit. It hadn't pierced through all the way.  
And he could only be grateful that the blown up computer had stood right there, or he would have taken a face full of shotgun slugs instead. That was some heavy, _heavy_ ammo Francesco was using.

“I'm fine.” he muttered and stood up, turning to look in the direction he had last seen the den leader. “Did you get him?”

A nod and Connor picked up his tomahawk off the floor, tense as he walked around the desks to where Francesco still lay twitching in a corner. Ah, Altair had used his tazer. He wasn't dead yet.

Good. He didn't deserve a quick one. 

The shot gun still lay next to him and Connor quickly kicked it away, out of reach, and knelt down next to him. “One wrong move and my tazer is going straight into your eyeball.” he growled, holding up his arm to show him, and pressed his hand down on Francesco's chest to keep him pinned. Patting him down he found another pistol on his belt, which he quickly tossed away as well, and a small knife hidden in his boot, which he took and twirled between his fingers.

Francesco was still twitching in the aftermath of getting hit by a tazer, but the look of _hate_ burning in his eyes didn't do much to phase Connor. “Wolf to Eagle.” he said, tapping his communicator as he held Francesco's gaze without flinching. “Target is down but still alive. Anything you want to ask before we off him?”

-=-=-=-

It was a strange sense, the tingle of pride he heard at the cold request to end a life. Yet how could one not be proud, when just a few months prior he'd run directly into a den without so much as a second thought. Maturity with a hefty price tag, and yet it suited him, Haytham's voice even, level. "Well, I've a great many questions but it's nothing the hard drives will not inevitably reveal." A pause and his tone softened, unlike it did when he was kind. Rather every word seemed laced with venom. "Should you feel kind, end his life slowly."

It was with an empty smirk that he stated the rest. "Should you feel as I do, talk of how his son sniveled and died to a, and I am quoting the dead little oaf- 'stupid whore.' Add in what you like, I've no preference towards the matter, cruel nor kind."

Heh, well then. Altair offered a shrug of his own, stepping by Connor. He could do the honors, he guessed. "You can kill 'im, I just wanna tell him, Wolf." A gloved hand tapped the side of his a flushed cheek, far from gentle. "You don't beg like your son does. That's good. It got annoying, ya know? Loud as shit, squealing like a fuckin' pig and all... aw, wha' happened Francesco? Thought we'd spare the fat fucking rapist _pig_ because he was eighteen?" A tap on the nose and he could not see the smirk, but it never left Altair's face, his gaze locked on the flushed face, still twitching nerves.

"At least ya get to die by our hand. Heh, I heard some whore killed your kid. You know what's great about that, Francesco? He had it _coming_ and she'll never be caught. Fuck, maybe she'll move on and marry some guy and have babies and shit years from now and this'll be a fuckin' fading nightmare. But ya know what the best part is?" A hand gripped through hair, pulling his face closer to his own, the husky whisper devoid of emotion, amber eyes cold. 

"Your lineage, everything you were, everything you represent, ends here." Just as soon as he let go did he watch by Connor's side. "Do what ya gotta do, Wolf."

-=-=-=-

Do what he had to do. Connor's eyes betrayed nothing as Altair took his place next to him, giving him the space he required. This was different than killing someone in the heat of battle, with bullets whizzing passed his face, where he had to kill in order to keep going forward.

This was so very different; his enemy incapacitated, no longer able to defend himself and waiting for him to deliver to killing blow. It was Cutter all over again. Hell... Kadar too.

Connor wasn't aware that he had been sitting there for a full minute, just staring at Francesco's face, until Altair placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He involuntarily flinched at the touch and opened his mouth to answer the question before Altair could ask it. “I got this.”

His hand was still on Francesco's chest, keeping him firmly pressed down against the floor, and Connor shifted, raising his leg and swinging it over him to sit down on the man's legs. He had planned to make it slow... to draw it out as payment for all the suffering he had caused, the lives he had ruined. Francesco deserved slow.

But now, Connor didn't think he could give slow. Now, staring down at Francesco, at this very moment... he just wanted it over with.  
His fingers were still curled tightly around the handle of his tomahawk and Connor slowly raised it over his head, the metal gleaming in the artificial light of the lamps. Below him, Francesco sneered.

“Don't think you'll get away with this.” he hissed. “You might kill me here and now, and your comrades may have killed my son, but we are with many more. You and your gang, you have no idea what you're getting yourselves into. No idea of the forces you are angering. You have sealed your own fate coming in here. _He_ will make sure of it. _He_ will not stop. _He_ will hunt each one of you down. You will soon become targets yourself. I will not live long enough to see it happen, but I'll die knowing that it will.”

Connor blinked slowly and frowned. He? Who was he? What was he talking about it?

“Finish it boy.” Francesco's eyes closed. “Enjoy this victory, for it will be your last.”

Gritting his teeth Connor's eyes narrowed, Francesco's smug expression even at the face of death infuriating him beyond measure. The muscles in his shoulder and arm tensed, grip tightened, and with a swoosh his tomahawk came down to bury the sharp blade into Francesco's face with the sickening crunch of bone. Blood splattered up onto the glass of his goggles, the body twitching beneath him and Connor wrenched his weapon free only to slam it down again, and again and again, until the man's face resembled nothing more than an unrecognizable mass of blood, grey matter and broken pieces of skull. A red puddle slowly spread out over the floor, seeping into the cracks of the tiles and Connor staggered away from the body before it could reach him.

Staggered away from Altair too, tomahawk slipping from his fingers to clatter onto the floor as Connor braced his hands against one of the desks and gulped in the air. Why? Why was this kill affecting him more than the other ones today? He'd had no problem with the guards, so why-

_Because you bashed his face in, that's why._

… that was why. Bashed his face in like he had done to Kadar, and _why_ wasn't he over that already?! “Fuck...” Why hadn't he left that behind him yet, after all that time?

Horribly aware of Altair's presence behind him Connor straightened and took a deep breath before he picked up his tomahawk and wiped the blade clean. He couldn't meet Altair's eyes as he turned and walked back to the surviving computers, away from the body, his voice tight. “We're done here, Osprey... lets grab this stuff and get out.”

-=-=-=-

He had it coming. The slick mush and glide of skin, tendon, muscle. The tomahawk clinked against skull and smashed, tore, rid the face before them of its identity. He was a bastard, weeks watching the prisoners of the pits proved it; this had been ongoing for years, this _business._ Every person was treated like less then a possession, and he knew it, lived it, witnessed it. Had hands been free nails would have broke skin. Francesco wasn't an innocent man. They were ridding the world of a sociopathic murderer.

So why the fuck did Connor sound like that? Amber eyes observed his retreating back. His pitch... fucking shit. He didn't get it... well he sorta did, it was a pit, and Connor fought, killed in a pit. Killed Kadar... Altair remembered witnessing that fiasco, the last time a person made him act violently. Cutter, pulled around, torn to shit.

… He shoulda killed him just now. Cursing under his breath he almost jogged to reach Connor. This was why he needed Haytham here, he wasn't cut out for this shit, he just wasn't smart enough...

"Yo." He hesitated, more or less because it was just awkward; he couldn't even imagine what he was feeling, what would help. He sucked at this so much, but... he clapped Connor's shoulder. Honesty was all he had.

"It was a long time coming, and there's no shame in it, ya know?" He needed a cigarette, and a beer, but mostly he needed to get his point across, no matter how badly he sucked at it. "I... can't even imagine the shit going through your head, but whatever we have to do, from here on out- and whatever you had to do, to get here- it's justified. It was either you are them. It's that simple, Wolf."

Something he used to do, way back in the military. The grip on the back of Connor's mask was light, and he pressed their foreheads together briefly, brotherly.

"Fuck this place. Fuck Francesco, and fuck whoever he thinks can take us." A pat on Connor's back and he separated, from him, but his hand remained, another firm pat placed. "Hard drives, then home man. We got this."

-=-=-=-

Connor did not resist when Altair pressed their foreheads together. Altair's words made sense, what he said was true. It really was that simple... and in a way, it wasn't. He was frustrated with himself, angry with himself, that this was still affecting him in such a way. Pathetic really... he wasn't the only one who had experienced horrific things. 

His father had, in his youth, with Birch and the death of his own father. And he was sure Malik and Altair had seen some pretty bad things during their time in the military, aside from the explosion that took Kadar. And they still managed to stay strong when it really mattered!

So why couldn't he?

The thoughts ran rampant in his head, but Connor kept it to himself, not voicing it in preference to get out of here as soon as they could. All he offered was a nod that he had heard Altair, and Connor pulled away from him to turn to the computers again. It was like he had said; hard drives, then home.

Without the proper tools opening the PC cases proved difficult; they couldn't risk damaging the hard drives by cracking them open by force, and in the end they were forced to resort to using the tips of their knives to pry away the screws. It took more time than they would have liked but in the end they managed to take only four hard drives and one laptop with them. It seemed that Francesco had actually managed to break the others before they could stop him.

With the hard drives safely in his bag, Altair taking the laptop, Connor looked at him and nodded. “Ready when you are.”

-=-=-=-

Shit, he was beyond ready for this, sweaty, stinkin' mess they were. That was just it though; this room was at the front, and the sewers were towards the side. And there was an avalanche of shit in between, collapsed ceiling and all.

"Ugh, yeah, workin' on it." A press to the mic and he exhaled long. "Yo Hawk, any other rays around this place? I remember you mentioned an exit on the south side-"

_"Due east, Dodo."_

"Excuse me for not having a compass. Maybe I'll just ask Lion-"

_"Meow!"_

"- for directions. Lion, would you please?"

_"Mhm, Due east, hop into the pit, the one door should leave to the... hm. That's strange I don't quite know where it leads."_

Well shit. "We ain't got much of a choice anyway. C'mon Wolf."

Into the pit, stepping over a heap of bodies, a few injured spectators left for police, whenever they arrived. Like Leo said there was one door to the pit, over the bloodied sand and grit, and Altair hurried along it, ignoring the shiver that ran up him. All those fuckin' kids died here, and for what? It was no surprise Connor kept up with his stride easily, seemingly as eager to leave.

Down a hall, fairly pristine save for the dried blood, it curved and finally ended in a large door at the end. It opened with ease, Altair peering around, aware of the sudden giggle of laughter- wait, that was a girl.

Kennels. Dozens of them. Jesus it was fucking gigantic compared to Bali, and he accidental dropped a hard drive, string of curses leaving him. Silence, and then footsteps, a few heads peering behind a door, one that was up a flight of stairs. Right, the hookers were here.

"Uh, hey?" A wave of the hand and a scratch to the back of his neck and he shrugged. "You uh, ladies seen other guys, dressed like us leave here? We kinda got separated-"

"You're lucky they got the code from Vieri, you couldn't get through the door if they hadn't." 

Hey he knew her! Holy shit, she was alive! Uh... thefuck what was her name? "Scarlet? Shit you look like hell." He winced after he said that, adding, "Good to see you though!"

"I only look half as bad as y'all look." They seemed to relax, visibly, a few trickling down the stairs for a better view, whispering. "Not to be rude honey, but they went thatta way." A long finger pointed to another shut door, one he assumed lead to the hallway. "Now get the fuck out so I can get to a hospital, I need stitches and you're holding me up."

He didn't even want to know why, wasn't that hard to figure it out. A mock salute and he picked up what he dropped, on his way out, passing by the collapsed ceiling. "Bye Scarlet."

"It's Cristina now."

"Cristi then." He wound up yelling it as he almost ran out the door, jogging past the collapsed ceiling and running into a fairly drunk but moderately happy crowd, pats on the back to follow. And he high-fived a few for good measure, but kept going.

Through the sewer, up the ladder- and he practically tuck and rolled into the van, smirking. "Honey, I'm home, and I brought the goods!" God yes, it was good to be back!

-=-=-=-

So glad to finally reach the safety and familiarity of the van, their team complete again, the first thing Connor did was pull down his hood and toss his mask and goggles on the table, breathing a sigh of relief. Shower! He wanted a shower! Desperately.

“You two okay?” Leonardo asked as Connor took a seat next to Ezio on the floor, the back of his skull hitting the wall of the van with a soft thunk.

“Yeah. We're fine, now.” Altair muttered as he set his rifle to the side and took off his goggles as well, before showing the laptop. “We managed to take this, and four hard drives. Francesco had already gotten to the other computers unfortunately.”

Ah, speaking about that... Shifting Connor felt over his shoulder, touching the pieces of metal that were still imbedded in the layers of his suit; they didn't bother him but they still had to be taken out. “Uh, Leo? There are some...” Pointing at his shoulder he turned slightly as Leonardo slipped off his chair, taking a look at what was causing the problem before grabbing a pair of pliers out of a toolbox they kept stashed under the desk.

“You're not injured, are you?”

“No. Thanks to you and the work you put in these suits, I can't even feel them. Forget they were there, actually. So thank you.”

Leonardo answered that with a beaming smile, blue eyes twinkling as he pressed a hand between Connor's shoulder blades and pushed him forward slightly he could reach better. “You're most welcome, Connor. Please sit still while I take them out, per favore.”

Doing as told, Connor caught Ezio's eyes for a second, noting the somewhat disturbed look at them even though was trying to smile. He made a mental note to talk to his friend later, when they were back at the rented apartment.

“Should I make the call then?” Malik held up a simple cell phone, similar to the one they had used in Bali. It had worked last time; make the call, destroy the phone and leave the thoroughly smashed remains somewhere where it wouldn't be found, then get the hell out of here.

As Malik made the call and Leonardo finished pulling the shrapnel out of his shoulder before taking his place at the wheel to take them home, Connor sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes. “I call first dibs on the shower.”

“Oh hell no you won't.” Altair growled back. “Get in line, pup.”

“Kiss my ass, dodo. I called it first.”

“Furball!”

“Still called it first. Besides, I delivered the killing blow with Francesco. I deserve it.”

“You deserve my foot up your ass. I'm not taking a cold shower because you always use up the hot water!”

“I do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Daaaad!”

-=-=-=-

They were fine. A look at his son told of such, even as Leo made his way over and pulled bits of shrapnel from his suit. Even with most computers and their contents obliterated, his mind sang of the overwhelming success. Until it was thusly halted by constant, irritating bickering as per routine. And yet all the same, brief was the upward twitch of his lips.

His delightful horde or morons.

"Halt the petulance. I'll not deal with such before a proper meal, and quite frankly, after _I_ bathe what occurs beyond that is none of my concern." Silence, and he added to their dismay. "Ezio may have the second shower, you can squabble amongst yourselves for last bathing rights." 

The cellphone was tossed out, ran over multiple times after being cracked in two, and he added, quickly. "Pizza tonight, anchovies on my end, I don't particularly care what you other lot want, just call it in, I'm _famished_ and with the stirrings of a head ache. Now sit down and hush."

"Hey, when can we go back home? Like, in a few days?" But Haytham nodded, indicating a different train of thought. "Perhaps next week, we've to keep authorities off our trail." That and he'd his own idea, but it was to remain a surprise for a moment, until he was entirely sure it was a possibility.

~*~

No immediate family. No relatives, save for an uncle located in Northern Italy, but he doubted they were close. The broadcasts had been international, a few of the ex-pit dogs well enough to speak doing so of men in gas masks, suits, with guns and advanced weaponry. Of more interest- to his mounting embarrassment- where the bombardment of hookers, their claims of meeting one of there 'saviors' caused him endless torment.

"Built like Thor, and mysterious, like a secret agent. We could tell he was older cuz of his behavior." And in addition, they'd formulated a nick name, one multiple courtesans chuckled out, an eye to the camera. "Silver fox, our saving grace, a modern day James Bond!"

Had he the lacked the sense to avoid face palming into oblivion, such would have been accomplished with ease, rouge about his face as Altair called him thusly for days to follow. It was of muted interest momentarily, Haytham dissatisfied with the selection. Hospitals, he disliked them so heavily. Perhaps he was stalling minutely.

Or perhaps he was irritated, brows knitting together. Too small. Too ugly. Too plain.

"Haytham, just pick a fuckin' bear, man."

"I'm attempting to."

"It's been an hour! We've been to three stores, just get her one, she's not gonna care which." Why a bear, Altair would never understand. Only that he wanted to back and get back home; sharing one bathroom with six was a pain in the ass.

"I _care_ about which bear she is to receive." Honestly now... he fingered a dark brown one before looking into its smiling face. No. Too much forced nicety. It found itself rejected on the shelf, and Haytham had to wonder if it was a necessity, to make every bear outrageously happy-

Oh. Little purple booties, and a present... this one was almost half the length of his arm, large but portable. With it, a purplebox, streamers and down the sides, and he came to find it opened, stuffed with tissue paper to be replaced with a gift of their own choosing. A top its head, a miniature sleeping cap, also purple. Because he was a bear of pride, fashionably matches, the yellow streamers from the side of his present matching the little puff ball at the end of his hat, which also matched the bowed laces of his booties.

"Found it. I no longer require gift wrap either." Oh and think of the taffies he could place inside, or lemon bars... yes, this would work. "Altair hurry up I haven't all day, get in line."

He had to ask, even after they were done, as he arrived at the hospital parking lot. "Why a bear?"

"Evidently they're too fuzzy and cute to be obliterated by that of a skilled huntswoman." He blinked. "Or so I've been told by Connor on a hunting trip." Besides it was good enough for Myriam to find cute, therefore good enough for Cristina. "Why a white rabbit, since we're asking questions?"

"Huh? Oh." Fluffy and white, it was perched between tan arms, and he shrugged suddenly, unsure. "… I assumed girls just liked... fluffy shit." 

They checked in, Altair fidgeting with a cigarette. "Like what the fuck's a rabbit going to do, attack something?"

Hm, he was going the harmless, defenseless route? Interesting. He nodded his approval, Altair relaxing just a smidgen more, their boots clacking against the tile, stare ignored by those who bothered to do so. "Think she'll say yes?"

"Only one way to be sure." Haytham knocked, despite the door being so widely opened, before frowning. Two girls, one with her back to them, one a brunette. The other he could make out behind the curtain, but upon further inspection, while red headed, she looked nothing like Cristina, freckled and larger. "A thousand pardons, it seems we've the wrong room-"

As soon as it was said the brunette turned, shoulder length hair shifted, doe eyes curious and wide, and from ear to ear the smile erupted. "Holy shit!"

No IV to pull, thankfully, and she bounded out of the bed, flimsy robe and all, Altair the first to be caught in what was a hug. "You two! Oh my god I was hoping you would come, but it's been like a week so I thought maybe you left, oh! Is that for me? Aw! Look at the bunny!" It was snatched from him before he could answer, brown hair tucked behind her ear. No make up. The fake nails were gone. She put on a little weight, just from the ten days of being out of there.

She was pretty. Like, really pretty. And Altair had to bite his lip as he nodded, gesturing to Haytham who was next to receive a hug. Yeah, she was going to need _mace_ to keep Ezio away!

"With what the commotion and the detox I figured it best we waited." He pushed the bear into her arms, another cooing 'awww' leaving her, and she sat upon her bed, nodding. 

"Yeah, you did not want to see me during detox. Pretty bad... it kinda still is, the craving, ya know? Bad habit..." But the stitches were almost out, and soon they'd send her on her way. To a shelter, if she was lucky.

Shaking her head she offered them both a grin, holding both stuffed animals in her arms. "So, what bring you two here? I mean, I'm happy you're _here._ I just didn't expect it."

"A fair question, Cristi, if I may call you such." Tapping the small box the bear held, he allowed her to open it, explaining. "I'll be brief. I do apologize, hospitals cause me a horrid discomfort." His nostrils recalled what once was flesh sizzling, and he hoped the shiver was but a passing one. "You've saved many a life, the courage you displayed extraordinary and I have, admittedly, investigated your own background."

"Y-you did?"

"I apologize for it. I could not offer this to you if I was uncertain." 

The neatly folded slips of paper unfolded, and she stared, blankly, a single photograph beneath them. "… This is for a … rehab?"

"Thirty days, a treatment facility in Kent, Great Britain. I haven't a reason to send you to a halfway home." Tapping the picture he added, softly. "No much drug use nor shady presence in the vicinity."

"You live there?" Almost a breathless whisper, and she observed the picture carefully. It was a _manor._ The lawn was huge, and there was a fountain, and the gravel path held a Rolls Royce, red, with black tinted windows. It took a moment for his comment to sink in, large eyes darting between them both. "… You... you'll have me live _there?_ With you two?"

"Uh, sorry sweetie, six of us actually." Altair waved, somewhat awkwardly. "Uh, my friend, Mal, then his son, Connor, then Leo and my cousin, Ezio. And uh, seriously, he's harmless, tell him to go away and he'll stop hitting on you." 

A raised eyebrow from Haytham and he shrugged. "Dude, it's a sausage fest, she's real cute, and the kid's seventeen, he's gonna hit on her eventually."

But she chuckled, lifting up the the neatly folded paper, examining the second. "… A first class plane ticket for tomorrow?"

"… The private plane won't seat another, but I'll pick you up and drop you off in Kent, it isn't horribly far. I should have your cell phone ready, should you need call."

Silence. She looked it over, silent. No more shelters. No more streets. The possibility of never having to hook ever _again._ Over a week in the hospital and he'd seen his name on the news, face matching, repeats of what occurred in Brazil mentioned- and what her co-workers had labeled him.

"… Why? I just... I mean it's a yes, but why? Why go out of your way for me?" Her grip tightened on both animals. Even if it was a farce it was better then the nothing she had now. But she saw this guy on the news, and what he said could be true. The bed dipped next to her, a hand, light but calloused squeezed. And he was silent, thinking, turning to face her, voice light.

"We saved everyone from the pits, with your aid." His voice remained a whisper, grey eyes focused on her own. "I wish to aid you further, for your bravery. You are an example of courage personified. I'd see your life righted by my hand, if only to begin to even the debt between us." Hands remained gentle, lifting both tickets and placing them inside the box. "I'll let you think on it, if you wish, but make the decision soon."

He hadn't the opportunity to leave the room before she called hoarsely. "You'll pick me up, for the air port, around nine?" The shimmer in her eyes told it all. "I want food that's not hospital food before I go."

The final words spoken between them until they met the next morning, and where proved true to his word. "I'll bring breakfast."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens in this chapter is something Girlsloveyaoi and me have been aching to write for a long time. I guess you could call it another plot point. *hands out tissues* Hehehehehehe~
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: le incest. And angst, lots of it. And some violence too.
> 
> A thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos. They makes us so happyyyyyyy!!! And as always, if you spot any typos, let me know!

He blinked. 

And tilted his head. 

And blinked, again. 

Surely, they were not serious? Well, most of them were not, Altair had looked at the heap on his plate with eyes that screamed, 'do not want!' Malik had successfully made a strong, well suited mimosa, and Ezio had made a decent bacon. Leonardo had done toast, no duck bread allowed and that worked well enough. Altair had not bothered to even try the breakfast Connor had made for him and had just left to pick Cristina up from Kent, to return in an hour or so. So much had happened in the month to pass, namely the discovery of yet _more_ dens. At least two others, perhaps a third, spread through out the globe, a contagion. Their next target had been chosen, but before then... rest.

And perhaps, redressing the interior of what his sister's old room for Cristina. Red curtains, a cream-taupe interior blend, dark, mahogany furniture in it's opulence. And of course the finest of ornate red and and taupe-ish quilt, soft and matching the interior of her room. A lap top for her studies as she progressed to pursue her GED online and of course, a television. And stuffed animals along her shelves. And perfume, and lotions, and clothing...

Alright, perhaps he had spoiled her thusly. Perhaps she needn't _have_ the iPhone five. But he was the rightful guardian now, and he deemed such necessary. And with any luck she could cook as Leonardo did, and perhaps teach his son the same.

It brought him to the monstrosity before him, the heaping pile of... blackness. He didn't know what it _was,_ just that there was a burning smell, and his favorite pan was scorched and smoking in the sink. He'd disabled the fire alarms at the sound, and gave Connor a nod as he eyed what he assumed was-blasted Ezio's head was int he way, Leonardo was mouthing it.

"An... omelet?" Oh heaven, thank all for Leo. It was an omelet!

… Wait. The blackened heap stared back, angrily. That thing was an omelet?!

Oh his stomach, acid reflux, esophagus lining, his poor _mouth..._ whitening knuckles clutched the tea cup, and he nodded, blowing. "It's... well yes. It's breakfast. Thank you." A sip of tea and he blinked, coughing and staring. "W-what's..."

"We uhm, lack lemons momentarily because of the bars Leo made so uhm, Connor was creative and used..." Ezio rubbed the back of his head, sheepishly. "He used lemonade."

"… How much lemonade?"

"About half."

Oh _bullocks._ Right. Haytham, honesty. He cleared his throat and readied himself to be honest, meeting expectant, slightly horrified brown eyes from next to him. He looked as though a kicked puppy for Christ sakes.

"… I'll eat every bit of it." Just stop looking at me like that. He ignored the slight guffaw of Ezio and grabbed a fork, cutting- well, okay. Knife. He grabbed the knife, cutting the egg, and did, indeed, chew. And chewed some more, and kept chewing.

And swallowed.

And silently begged he would not get food poisoning as he drank the 'tea'. "You know lad, Ezio and Leonardo were going to visit Claudia, perhaps it would be a decisive time to take a trip." By perhaps he meant 'I already purchased the tickets', but he asked, regardless, silently hoping Socks or Paws would hop into his lap and lick his food. Even they seemed to think the better of it, but no matter. 

"Canada, I've yet to experience it, and they've a large hunting season, including..." And he did take a decisive turn, chewing on a thankfully edible bit of toast. "Black bears."

It was almost coy, the look he offered. "Would that be something of interest?" As if he hadn't a clue. They need have some quality time, it had been far too long with their relationship still secret.

-=-=-=-

Connor _tried_ to make himself smaller as Haytham nearly choked on his tea, hunching up his shoulders and attempting to sink right through the seat.

Lemons! Lemonade! It made total sense!

But clearly it hadn't been the right thing to do, even if he had meant well by it. He winced, eyes flicking up to meet Haytham's stare... of fuck he was going to hear it now. He had only tried to do the right thing. Sydney was already weeks behind them but it still felt like they couldn't get a break. There was so much to do still.

The hard drives and laptop they had taken had given them a lot of new, usable information, information that had kept them busy ever since returning from Australia. And what with Cristina moving in with them soon... that had been mostly Haytham's and Altair's decision, and while Connor wasn't against it by any means – he knew how much the girl had suffered – it... kinda felt like... They had all become so close, the six of them, like they were a family now, and here was this new girl coming into their lives and it just felt odd.

It was something he couldn't quite put into words. Cristina had proven to be a sweet girl on the few occasions they'd had a chance to talk. No complaints there. Just that... she wasn't part of the _team._

Whatever they case, everyone was on edge, knowing that their work was far from done, and Haytham did so much for them. Connor felt like it was his duty to do something back. In this case... making breakfast for his father. Leonardo had tried to teach him how to cook more than once, but he had once again proven that standing in the kitchen simply wasn't meant for him, seeing as he clearly had managed to fuck up an omelet and a cup of tea of all things.

And he was about to apologize for it when Haytham tried a bite. _Don't bother,_ he wanted to say to him. _I know it's crap._

But he appreciated nonetheless, knowing that his father appreciated his attempt even if it was disgusting.

What came next though caught him off guard completely, his fork falling back onto his plate with a clatter. “Bears?” Canada? Hunting? As in, real hunting, like he used to? The kind of hunting that did not involve shooting up people? “Really? You mean that?”

Leonardo swallowed an amused chuckle behind his fist at the glimmer of excitement in Connor's eyes. “Fuck yeah I'm interested! But...” A glance at Malik, who shook his head. 

“Don't worry about us. Vacation is not for me. Someone needs to take care of Socks and Paws, Altair can do that.” Taking a sip from his coffee he added dryly. “Amongst other things.”

Ezio smothered his snort into his plate, Leonardo was still trying to hide his grin and Connor couldn't help but chuckle too at what Malik was insinuating. Altair had grabbed every chance he could get to visit Cristina while she was in rehab, and had immediately jumped on the chance to pick her up and bring her here, home. It was all too clear that he fancied her, something they loved to tease him with.

“Well then.” Shoving his plate to the side Connor looked at his father again, a beaming smile on his face; he wasn't hungry anymore, no. Too excited! Waaaay too excited! Just him and his dad on a trip! Privacy! No risk of any of the others walking in on them! They could finally drop their guard a little, how awesome was that? “When do we leave?”

-=-=-=-

It was a rarity, struggling to avoid chuckling but Malik's comment was validated in entirety. Furthermore Connors tangible excitement temporarily disarmed him, the beginnings of a grin striking him amidst his breakfast of horrors.

His guard had been lowered, as of late. He wasn't entirely sure he liked it, but when posed with the exuberance of his son's face, it was hard to mind it.

"Well the tickets I purchased are for the first of October lad, I figure we've a day to settle in with the time zone differences. Hunting season starts either the second or third, white tail deer and black bear." He sipped his tea, proud of his ability to hide the wince. "I've rented a cabin in the center of the county, though I've never ventured to that area of Canada- and the tickets extend for ten days, do not be surprised if I use one to visit Quebec, they've a heavenly Bistro that I insist you try."

He'd no interest in offending the lad but he could take no more, grabbing the edible toast and ruffling his son's head. "Just please, show mercy. Don't cook in the cabin, lad." The amusement could not be hidden, Haytham nibbling on his toast and exiting... after grabbing the tea, draining it's contents in the sink. And that of the mimosa directly after wards, patting Malik on the shoulder with a murmur. "Well played."

~*~

It was a long flight, but far from the longest they'd taken, most of the time spent in the first class cabin playing angry birds or exchanging music, their tastes still entirely varying. Although he would concede to utilizing a Simon Curtis song, lips twitching as he listened. Against the wall, he said? Well, they'd ten days to try that.

The day in Quebec could break the week of monotony, for now he wished to visit their cabin. The rental car line was short enough, within a half hour he was holding the keys in hand and placing their luggage in the trunk. They'd need to purchase weaponry, but perhaps later in the day, it was still before noon and while they ate on the plane, he'd preferred his own cooking.

An hour long drive, the city faded and gave way to more maple and oak as they passed, reds and yellows flooding his vision. Flowers still bloomed, an abundance of orchids scattered about, and it was down a paved but still entirely dirt road that he found them slipping through, entirely grateful he wore something heavy as he pulled into the secluded and singular cabin. No land-line phones, no internet, no television, the old barn stood next to the wooden structure, something one might see from the nineteenth century.

The key was left in the mailbox, Haytham eying the oak trees that lay on either side, listening to the trickle of the creek one could observe trailing behind the cabin. The inside much resembled the outside, save for a more modern, small kitchenette. Much more spacious was the long table in the center of the floor, the open layout allowing one to see the bathroom, bedroom, living room and kitchen. It worked well enough, Haytham unbuttoning his jacket. Basic pots and pans included; they'd need hunting equipment. He brought basic silverware, but the rest could wait.

The bed was large enough to fit them both... if one of them slept on top of the other.

"I call sleeping atop you, I've no interest in suffocating." He looked at his son. His hair was growing out, the sides of his head bore an inch or so of fuzz, unruly black. His fingers found purchase in such, and his face a spot by his neck. Aftershave or cologne, he could not say, just that it was a familiar comfort, and he nuzzled accordingly, with unlimited affection. 

Arms snaked around his son, the gestures saying what he wished to but found himself unable. Instead of words he offered company, offered fingers running through hair and an arm about his waist. Affection in an endless amount, for here he was free to do so.

"Nap or food shopping?" Grey met brown, fingers leaving hair to tap his stomach, amusement in his eyes. "I know peanuts, a cookie, and sandwich made no dent on your appetite." The corners of his mouth twitched, before teeth bit lips. "And I'm uncertain what you hunger for more voraciously."

-=-=-=-

Haytham had picked a really nice place. Connor felt right at home here, comfortable in this small cabin in the middle of the woods where he could explore and climb and have _fun_ all he wanted. The cabin itself was really nothing special but it was quaint and cozy and he certainly didn't mind that there were no double beds present. Multiple beds yes, but only one a room, and why sleep in separate bedrooms while they could just as simply sleep on top of each other?

Connor hummed softly as a strong arm wrapped around him and he was prompted to tilt his head back as Haytham buried his face into his neck. Oh finally, they could be intimate again without risking anyone walking in on them!

“Hmmm...” Food or nap? A nap was definitely tempting, after the long flight getting here. He was tired, but... “Food first.” A soft tug on Haytham's greying hair had him pull back enough Connor could swoop in, lips and teeth parting for him easily. There was no need to fight for control, this wasn't about that... this was just about him letting his father know how much he appreciated this, taking him to this place, away from the stress back home. Just the two of them and a few days where they wouldn't have to worry about all the shit going on in the rest of the world.

Lazy and slow, taking his sweet time familiarizing himself with his father's taste, slow swirls of his tongue and gentle nips with teeth and lips, and Connor pulled back just enough to press his forehead against Haytham's. “Get that over with so we can focus on... other things. And seeing as I'm not allowed in the kitchen and I'm hungry...” For multiple things but his stomach demanded priority. 

-=-=-=-

"Mm." Slow. Slow did not occur often, particularly as of late. Activities occurred sporadically and often lasting briefly, reserved for but the wee hours of the morning and the latest parts of night. He savored the taste, the touch of tongue, the press of him, somehow always enticingly heated. Intoxication at it's sweetest, finest.

"I can't imagine why I'd bar you from such. Nor can my blackened eggs and doughy pancakes of prior." He was in no rush to move, comfortable for a change, rather mutely anxious for quality time. The ever growling stomach beneath his hand however caused his action. "Unpack?" Perhaps it was the fresh air, the idea of solitude for them, but his fingers found purchase around the loops of his jeans, belt pressing to skin.

"I'd offer a lift, but I'm... having a minute bit of difficulty preventing hands from wandering." And that was putting it lightly, tongue skirting to again lick the seem of lips... he moaned for heavens sake, he was moaning from a _kiss._

And with reluctance he forced himself away, tipsy on the sense of impending euphoria, grabbing the keys off the table. "I'll make if brief." Dare he say he was giddy? Another kiss and Haytham parted again. Keys. Store. C'mon, you're forty, old man, keep it together.

And that tidbit was ignored by the overwhelming portion of his brain that had the audacity to wink at Connor when he left. "Clothing is optional as we dine. Tata." He chuckled halfway to the car. Oh hell, the happiness hadn't swept him away in some time, he deserved a moment of silliness.

-=-=-=-

Oh. 

Well then.

Connor could not resist the smirk even if he wanted to. Haytham was definitely in a good mood, he could tell!

Hehe, all the better for him. But first things first. Clothes in the closet, toiletries in the bathroom, kitchenware in the kitchen. Haytham's book on the bedside table, as well as his own phone, for when they needed a moment to themselves, and their hunting supplies he put next to the front door, ready for use. He made up the bed, taking the pillows from the other rooms to use on their shared bed, getting it ready for tonight – the bed looked sturdy enough. Heh, it had to be.

Hmm... what else could he do until Haytham came back? Unpacking their bags hadn't taken that long. Strolling back into the living room Connor looked around with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Bleh, there was no TV. It was 2013 and this place had no TV! “Laaaame.” he muttered to no one in particular, before his eyes fell on the fire place.

… well alright then!

It didn't took him long at all; after all, he had plenty of experience making camp fires, this was easy and before long a fire was happily crackling and eating away at the dry wooden logs, spreading a warm orange glow.  
Removing his boots, socks and shirt Connor tossed them in the corner of the bedroom before dragging a heavy blanket back to the fire place and draping it out in front of it. They could totally eat dinner here (and make out after wards, hehehe).

That was about all he could do though. Nothing to do but wait now. Flopping onto his back he laced his fingers together behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the warmth of the fire flowing over his skin and he softly hummed to the song in his head. Hurry up and come back, dad. It was no fun _alone._

-=-=-=-

What was supposed to be a quick trip turned longer then expected with no real supermarkets in the vicinity, not that he minded the smaller, farmer style markets. Simply that there was much he was sure Connor had not tried, nor eaten and while foie gras with a truffles and a demi glaze of Cabernet sauvignon sounded nothing short of a decadent delight, the boy would no sooner stare at him and proclaim, 'a goose liver? Ewww. Also, cruelty to animals!'

There were however some things he'd probably try. Chicken was bought for good measure, so was smoked salmon, cured ham- the boy had the appetite of a damnable bear, this would all be eaten within a few days- along with duck and elk. He'd try bear soon enough, doubtlessly.

He had rushed back, groceries in hand simply because he refused to make a second trip, despite the begrudgent wining of one tearing brown bag.

"Lad, a moment-" He struggled with the key, managing to open the door, breath leaving in white wisps, mingling with the chilled air.

Noticeable warmth, the lingering glow over the fire- and how the shadow of flame licked his skin, a caress that warmed him more than any bit of fire could. Splayed across the heavy blanket, relaxed- when were they ever relaxed, nowadays? - lethargic in movement. He wished for a brief moment Leonardo could capture the moment that caused his breath to leave him, immortalize both him and it in a way he could never. In a way suited and deserving.

The tear of a bag, and to his feet fell the quail, berries, and what not. Trivial unimportance as his foot shut the door, and he knelt for a moment, placing them aside. He'd nothing adequate to say, turning instead to the unpacked cutlery.

Elk would be the shortest to cook, Haytham preparing the steaks quickly, a brief saute amongst mushrooms and onions and into the oven, for a solid fifteen minutes. Good. His overcoat had fallen to the floor, the material of his turtleneck making an untidy mess of his dark hair before he'd a chance to remove the ribbon.

"You made pants a mortal enemy of mine." It as mentioned with a smirk, as he climbed over Connor's body, sitting upon his abdominals, most his weight rested on his own thighs. Same height, but his build was impeccable, large, foreboding. And yet there he lay, content as Haytham hovered over him, smooth plane of skin save for the uneven bump of rib, the scar upon his shoulder, the small one on his cheek. Fifteen minutes. His hand spent little time searching for what lay beneath his pants, cupping, kneading. "Tomorrow, bears are the game of choice." He licked his lips, a smolder in his gaze as he looked downward. "Tonight, my attention is yours."

-=-=-=-

~*~

-=-=-=-

It was still early in the morning, a thick fog drifting through the trees as the first rays of the sun tried to peek into the bedroom through the gaps in the curtains.  
It had been a tight fit, getting into bed last night; Haytham still lay on top of him, evidenced by the face full of pepper colored hair the moment Connor opened his eyes, still red with sleep.

It was a bloody miracle neither of them had fallen out of bed yet. Pfft... perhaps he should suggest they sleep in the living room, in front of the fireplace for the remainder of their nights here. At least they'd have _room_ then. Not that he wasn't uncomfortable or anything, but he liked being able to move around at least a little bit; as it was now, while by no far too heavy to handle, Haytham kinda... smothered him.

“Dad?”

No response, except for a soft snore and Connor rolled his eyes. Well now, fancy that. Usually his father was the early bird, always first to wake up. Not this time though. Must be the jet lag. 

“Daaaaaad.” A tug on his ponytail and Connor winced when an elbow dug into his ribs. Come on, wake up already!

“C'mon, old man. Nap time is over.” He attempted to squirm, and regretted it immediately when a flash of pain shot up his spine; sucking in a gasp Connor held it, riding it out until it faded away again and he sighed. Right. Ouch. He had expected it, honestly... they hadn't gone 'all the way' in a while so it was no wonder he was sore. That, and Haytham had been rather frisky and eager last night, and he _still_ felt it.

… bleh, at least he wouldn't have to lie to the others about the reason why he was walking with a bit of a limp. The I-fell-out-of-bed-excuse was starting to become overused.

And Haytham still had to wake up.

Narrowing his eyes at the mop of greying hair, trying to will him to wake up with his stares alone, Connor gently shifted again until he could reach Haytham's ear with his lips. “Daaaaaddy~” It came out with a purr and Connor flicked out his tongue, tracing the shell with the tip. “Wake up~”

His fingers trailed down Haytham's ribs, slowly, teasing, tickling him with only the slightest graze of his nails. “C'mon, dad.” A quick brush of fingers against Haytham's flaccid cock and Connor pressed his lips against his cheek, whispering. “I'm hungry. Go make me breakfast.”

-=-=-=-

"Mmm." Warm, comfortable, and utterly exhausted, a eye cracked open as his makeshift-Connor-pillow shifted. The shiver traveled through him quickly, skin prickling in the cool air. Like hell he was getting up.

"Stop." It was far less foreboding then intended. Honestly, couldn't a man be allowed a moment of rest after his worthy performance last evening?

Oh, but now the lad had gotten warmer. Haytham's smirk hid itself, hips attempting to avoid the fleeting touch, as appreciated as it was. Well now, he could wake up to _that._

But of course the lad would ruin it by _talking._ For the love of everything sacrilegious.

"Really, Connor?" Perhaps dignified vocabulary would have been appropriate but it was- the cell phone he'd picked up read seven thirty- signifying just how early it was, and just how grateful Connor should be that there was no item he could bludgeon him with. Dignified words lost on his tired mind he settled for grabbing a pillow and swatting him in the head, thought it was too late, the magic of morning ruined. He was left groggily standing, grunting as his back cracked, half his hair sticking to his face until he'd the sense to brush it away. Fingers fiddled with paper, before a baguette was removed, and he tore off a chunk and tossed to his son, blinking.

"I'd tell you to make it yourself, but we've only one bathroom, and I will not subject you to the horror that is Connor food." Lips twitched in jest, dried fluid along him itchy, flaking. Ugh, shower. Now.

"Chew on that, I'll put on coffee. Please leave all kitchen appliances alone, they are innocent, lad. I swear they are far more frightened of you then you are of them." Instant coffee would be ready in a few short moment, Haytham grabbing his clothing that he set aside the night prior and sticking his nose in the air. "If I've coffee poured and at my ready, perhaps a repeat performance can be emulated tonight." Cheeky as it was, Haytham pecked full lips once, ruffling tousled hair.

"Select what you will for breakfast, I'll prepare it for you after my shower."

-=-=-=-

Pfft!

“I thought I wasn't allowed into the kitchen, but the coffee's there!” he yelled after Haytham in jest and flopped back onto his pillow. Fine, he'd pour the coffee and take a shower after Haytham was done so he could have breakfast after wards. Hmm... pancakes! He was craving pancakes!

Ow ow ow sore sore sore. Rubbing his lower back Connor stumbled towards the chair where he had left the clothing he'd wear today; it would be their first day of hunting and he was quite eager to put his camouflaged gear on. He hadn't been able to do that for a long time. Oh he was excited! So excited! This would be his first time bear hunting too! Hopefully they'd be able to find one they could shoot. A big one, with massive claws and teeth! I would make the best rug ever. Leonardo wouldn't approve of it, but _whatever!_

Slowly getting dressed, a piece of baguette between his teeth he strolled out of the bedroom after he was done, ignoring the mess they had left in front of the fire place; neither of them had bothered with the dishes after they had gotten... distracted with other things.

Huh...

Ah well, he could prove himself useful for once and clean up a bit while Haytham showering. Dirty plates, mugs with dried coffee on the inside, sticky cutlery; Connor carried it all back into the kitchen with a slight frown and dumped it all in the sink, quickly filling it with hot water after squirting in a good amount of dish soap. There. Let that soak for a while. Coffee!

Two quick pours later, both mugs sitting on the table, steaming, Connor knocked on the bathroom door, listening to the water running inside. “Coffee's done. You better not be wanking in there. I want pancakes please thanks.” Smirking he turned on his heel; hehehe, sometimes it was just _fun_ to act like a little teasing shit.

-=-=-=-

Wanking? 

He opened the door, regretting it as Steam slipped through and frigid air attacked his skin. He managed to slip on his pants, black sweater to follow, towel working its way through he last bits of damp hair. It was with a mock scowl that indulged in coffee, humming in content as he fetched a pan. "I wouldn't dream of 'wanking' it absent of your illustrious presence." Offering a wink he set aside vanilla, flour, and milk, perhaps fetching the spatula with a... slower and lower bend then necessary. "Now if you were, perhaps, requesting a show, I suppose I could acquiesce given your particularly enthusiastic behavior the night prior."

Enthusiastic was putting it lightly. If they had a connecting cabin the neighbors would have surely left after all the noise they'd made, the clatter of the metal frame echoing in the still of the night. Oh but it had been so very soothing, watching the dull flames lick the dark complexion, their desire to be as loud as need be granted in finality.

It was no wonder he smiled, humming occasionally, the assortment of berries beside him popped into his mouth one by one as the griddle before him yielded a sufficient amount of pancakes at long last. He'd no idea which berries Connor wanted with his, but he'd a way to find out.

"Blackberry or blueberry?" He swatted the hand away from the cartons, a blueberry between his teeth. He wasn't one for food play, but this small increment held appeal, lips pressing over Connor and tongue tipping the berry into his mouth, before he separated, taking a small a blackberry and repeating the action, Lips, tongue and teeth- his own tongue pushed in the sweet berry, lingering for a moment longer then necessary before he settled back with a sigh, shutting off the stove. One could not pry the smile from him at this point, lips tingling.

"Well? Breakfast, choose lad, c'mon, we haven't the entire day."

-=-=-=-

Hm, now there was an image. “Perhaps I'll ask for a show on my birthday, I kinda like the sound of that.” he purred, resting his elbows on the table, the spoon he had used to stir his coffee between his teeth. If asked for his birthday, Haytham couldn't exactly refuse, now could he?

Hehehe.

Before long the delicious smell of pancakes filled the small kitchen, and Connor's stomach roared louder, impatient. Ugh, he was hungryyyyy! How long was this going to take? He had plenty of patience, but not for this, not for food!

“Hm?” Blinking Connor quickly spat out his spoon, only vaguely hearing it fall on the floor; his attention was on Haytham, who leaned in with a small berry between his teeth, closer and closer and closer and- oh, that was _nice._

Another berry, a different taste and his eyes fluttered shut, a tiny moan escaping him as it was pushed over his tongue. His fingers twitched, eager to reach out and hold on, touch, feel, but his father was already pulling back, leaving behind only the taste of berries mixing with what was undeniably _Haytham._

… bloody tease!

“I dunno, it was too fast. Perhaps you should do that again?” he muttered as he leaned down and snatched his spoon off the floor, tossing it on the table with a smirk. It was tempting, very tempting. “Blueberry please.”

Toppings chosen his plate was set in front of him and Connor dug in with the appetite of a starving wolf. No one could make pancakes like Haytham could, these were fucking amazing! Not too thick, not too thin, not too doughy, just... _perfect._

After this he'd take a very quick shower and then he'd be ready to go. Today was going to be awesome, he could tell already.

-=-=-=-

It was tempting, too tempting, but he resisted just barely. "If I carry on we'll never make it out of this cabin, lad." Thought hat in itself sounded promising, blueberries atop his plate. After breakfast Haytham readied the equipment they did have before making a trip to the closest shop for ammunition and rented guns- purchasing the like would take precious days they didn't have- but rental, with passports and a very quick but thorough background check? They were done within the hour, and happily on their way with a friendly warning.

Evidently a cold front and storm were on the horizon, even though there was a lack of foreboding clouds momentarily. He paid mind, truly, but already prepared and with a lack of substantial proof they made their way to a mid way point, between the ammunition shop and their cabin, a fifteen minute drive either way. If it rained so be it, but until then he'd keep Connor's excitement alive, lips twitching at what became his excited behavior.

"We're here, lad." Parked by a small creek, with the ammunition, weaponry, and a canteen ready, the trek through the small layer of multicolored leaved was enjoyable, paths ebbing off the further they trekked, past oak, maple, and birch trees. And every so often he could hear a twig snap, animals int he distance, their notable presence bringing distinct satisfaction. A large, black bear, to match his own.

Deep within the woods, it was at a clearing that he pulled up his own hood, camouflaged uniform ideally suited for the wind chill that picked up. There were clouds on the horizon now, but they'd traveled quite a while, Haytham intent on continuing, so long as it remained a light drizzle. The babbling of a crook, the warning songs of birds, the moist soil underfoot. It had been too long, far too long, and at a distance white tailed deer seemed on edge, scurrying away.

A crack of loud thunder and Haytham could but guess why, wincing. It was growing impendingly darker by the moment, and they were far from the car and cabin alike. So long as it wouldn't turn into a torrential down pour, that would be just his luck.

"Shit." Lightening had touched down in the distance, and he offered an apologetic gaze. "I've a feeling we'll want cover for sometime."

-=-=-=-

Oh no, nooooooo. No no no, what bad timing! “Oh you've _got_ to be kidding me!” Through the canopy he could see the rapidly darkening sky, storm clouds packing together. Another loud crack of thunder had him wince; this one had been closer than the last one and they were in the middle of a forest! Not a good place to be when at the center of a rapidly approaching storm. Ugh, this was ruining all their chances at finding a nicely sized bear today...

“Fucking hell.” Connor muttered, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder, seeing as he wouldn't be needing that anytime soon. What a mood killer, ugh...

Another loud crack and the drizzle of rain turned into a torrent. Connor and Haytham only needed to lock eyes once before they both turned and began to ran back down the way they'd come from, hoping to find at least some shelter from the cold rain.  
They had passed an overhang of rock earlier and while not perfect, it certainly beat hiding under a tree. It was quite a bit back though, and by the time they'd finally found the overhang, both men were soaked through.

“Shit!”

Pressing himself flat against the stone wall to avoid getting even wetter Connor wiped the rain out of his eyes, his hair clinging to his face in wet strands. His clothes were wet nearly through and through and his teeth clattered; oh man he was freezing! It was raining hard enough now he couldn't even hear the other sounds of the forest anymore, the noise of water clattering on leaves, wood, dirt and rock nearly deafening.

“Now what?” he asked, looking at his equally soaked through father and quickly shifted closer; they couldn't make a fire in this wetness but they had to try and keep warm nonetheless. “I don't mind a bit of rain but this is nuts!”

-=-=-=-

Freezing rain, positively frigidly, blastadly cold rain.

"I've little idea in all honesty lad." Without though he extended his arm around the broader shoulders before him, breath leaving him in small, white puffs. Doubtful was his own ability to remain warm, though there was little to be done other than attempt to provide warmth. "I suppose waiting it out is the sole option." Given how heavy the rain was. Ah he should have in probability heeded the warning, but his mood had been pleasant, and admittedly, he'd been all too eager.

His own wish to see Connor happy decidedly destroyed his use of common sense, and in turn lead to failure. A sigh left him, head shaking.

"I apologize lad, I should have heeded the warning thusly." And they'd not be in this predicament, freezing, under a rock of all things, smack in the middle of the wilderness.

Granted they'd still numerous days ahead, but it seemed a shame. Haytham romoved his hood and sat down as best as he could among the small amount of dry soil, patting the spot beside him. Clothing was doing him little favor, wet droplets clinging to skin were the sodden bits were not thoroughly stuck.

The overcoat met its fate, folded and placed atop chilled, clothed legs, the thoroughly soaked sweater to follow. Beneath that, a simple tank top, one that remained infuriatingly moistened, but he ignored it, wiping his arms of frigid rain and wringing out his hair. Settling against the cool rock, seemingly oblivious, Haytham exhaled, irritated and unbuckled his pants. "I hate being _wet_ when not in a shower or intentionally swimming." Explained if only to fill the silence, grey eyes looking towards Connor. Slim hips rose to lift his clothing aside, and colder or not, it was hardly as if anyone would see him. That and at least- while cold, and perhaps sitting amongst dirt in nothing but black boxer briefs that were irritatingly wet- he was comfortable.

Save for the prickling of skin, a shiver escaping him, he much preferred this, every bit of clothing folded, aware of the silence.

"Well? Get naked." His boots had been a pain to get off in the limited space, but he left them off, socks thankfully dry. "You'll feel better, and if nothing else you'll improve my view."

-=-=-=-

Connor's eyelids twitched, watching Haytham strip down to near nothingness. Soaking wet. In October. In Canada. He could only hope that this kind of stupidity was not in fact a Kenway thing, and thus inherited. 

“Uh...” Brown eyes drifted to the pile of wet clothing before moving back to his father who was, despite his words, shivering, goosebumps prickling on his skin, breath coming out with white puffs. “Yeah, how about no?” He was _already_ cold, stripping was not going to help!

“I don't even... I mean, what the _hell,_ dad? How is this supposed to make me feel better?” He needed a fire, not... not a strip show that required him participating! And yet Haytham kept giving him that look, that never-you-mind-just-do-as-you're-told-look.

Gritting his teeth Connor narrowed his eyes before sighing – oh fine! - and began to unbutton his jacket. “If I die of pneumonia I'll come back and haunt your ass. This is the stupidest thing I've ever done.” Folding his jacket up and placing it in the driest corner he could find his boots were next. Oh geez cold cold cold! Why was he doing this again? Oh right, because clearly Haytham was desperate to get them both sick. His sweater, shirt and pants followed, until he too was in nothing but his boxers and Connor quickly sat down again, pushing himself up against his father in an attempt to leech as much of his body's warmth as he could.

“This is stupid and I hate you for making me do this. You could have waited until tonight if you wanted a strip show.” he muttered, burying his face into Haytham's neck and wrapping his arms around him. Shit, he was freezing!

-=-=-=-

Oh please. Unhelpable was the rolling of his own eyes, chilled arms crossing over his chest. "The stupidest thing you ever did was that sow of a woman, Bianca. And I equally hate you for making me have to explain this to you, nit wit." Nipping his cheek, Haytham pulled away for a moment, only to shift positions, rolling his eyes at Connor's absolute obliviousness as he plopped into his lap. Fingers curled in dark tendrils before he explained, brow raised.

"Way back in historic times, before there was no television or those fancy music devices you youngin's commit tomfoolery and malarkey with, there was this thing people did to stay warm." No matter the frigid temperature was his sarcasm and sass knew no bounds; he'd grown up in the harshest winter England had to offer; whilst cold, he could manage with his wits about him.

"Now, firstly, was flame, but the confining space eliminates such so I'll digress." That and the look Connor was giving him was unhappy. He toned back the sarcasm just a bit, moving closer. "Now, the second- and more favorable method- was to engage in a physical activity that would allow one to remain dry, yet raise blood flow and heart rate." He blinked, toying with the dip of collar bone, lip between his teeth. He truly was every bit at home here; Connor himself was something delightfully untrainable in a way, rabid and wild, and would always be.

It suited him here. Amongst the rain, bits of mud, the cool wet earth... it didn't take much, Haytham aware that the semi-erect tip of his cock, clothed and all, brushed abdominal muscles as he whispered into Connor's ear. "I find myself very enthusiastically appreciative of the second idea." Lips, on the tan earlobe, suckling, teeth nipping before he added. "And I would share my appreciation if you would stop your continual bitching."

-=-=-=-

Oh.

_Ooooooooh._

“I... think I get it.” How could he not, with _that_ poking against his stomach. Made sense too... physical activity to keep warm. Suddenly he was no longer opposed to be naked. Surely they could have done it clothed (wouldn't be the first time when they did a quicky) but despite the cold, this way might still be better.

“Alright...” Reaching out Connor placed his hands on either side of Haytham's hips, holding fast and rolled his own hips up, hissing at the friction. “You have me convinced.” The forest ground was wet and frigid against his back, but... if what Haytham had said was right, there would come a moment soon he wouldn't even notice anymore.

However...

His smirk was wolfish, all teeth and narrowed eyes as Connor tightened his grip and bucked up and to the side, rolling them both over until Haytham was flat on his back, with his son between his legs. Oh he knew Haytham wouldn't like this pose but... “Next time you want me to strip in freezing weather though...” he purred, leaning in close enough his lips brushed over the fluttering pulse in his father's neck. “Just _tell_ me you want to have sex. That would stop my 'continual bitching'.” With that he brushed a fleeting, teasing kiss over his father's lips and pulled back, allowing the man to sit up straight.

“Outside sex, huh?” Strange enough that was a first for them. Well then... turning his attention back to Haytham Connor spread his arms wide, leaning back against the wall, before he reached down and palmed himself through his damp boxers. To it then! “I'm still freezing ya know.”

-=-=-=-

Oh looky there, fancy that. He only need spell it out for the lad to understa-

No sooner did he find himself on his back, eyes narrowed. Hm. Like he'd tell Connor to get nude without cause...

Had it been anyone else the trip would have ended, but bruised ego aside he was anxious to begin. That and he was entirely certain the lad meant nothing by it; a playful kiss was hardly worth holding a grudge, and he allowed himself up thusly, brushing off his back.

"Well we haven't began yet." As flatly as it was stated, his position resumed; for a reason he could not fathom in entirety he quite liked Connor's lap as it were. Broad expanse of skin and muscles... he could lick his lips as the display, intrigued.

Instead of pushing Connor's hand away, he sat back, observing, ghost of a grin planted across his face before he reacted. "I've always retained interest, of coitus in the woods." There was something fitting, primal here. Haytham undid his kept hair, tongue tracing familiar territory, over the small bump of rib, nipping a mark he'd placed only the night prior. And he moved further still, to the hem of underwear.

He needn't look upward, teeth dragging the elastic band down ward, with the help of astute hips, his chin brushing what was the firm, now unclothed erection, the press against his cheek as he slid underwear down towards thighs ignored, even as pre-cum left a trail upon his cheek.

"It's an enticing view, lad." Close enough for hot breath to ghost across, close enough for Haytham to lick a prominent vein or suckle the head greedily. No such luck, nuzzling was as far as he'd go, and just for the fun of it, he moved downward, placing a kiss on Connors testicles before looking upwards, licking the palm of his hand and squeezing the impressive mass. "Warmer yet, lad?"

-=-=-=-

… noooooooo waaaaaaaaaaay!

He didn't dare to move. Hell, he barely dared to _breathe._ He could only stare and lift his hips as his boxers were pulled down and off. Haytham's face, so _close_ to his erection... did that mean... was he _finally...?_ “Dad....” he couldn't stop the whimper even if he had wanted to, the sensitive head of his cock brushing his father's cheek, his breath ghosting over skin. Connor's hand came up to rest on top of Haytham's head, fingers burying into in hair; he didn't push, nor did he grip tightly... doing either would most likely make him pull away again and gods, he didn't want that! He wanted _this!_ Please please please oh god THIS.

His legs spread wider, allowing for more room, and the back of his skull hit the stone wall behind him. Almost almost almost almo- His hips bucked and jerked as a kiss was placed on his balls, and the first moan of what would undoubtedly be many more escaped him... especially if Haytham kept doing this.

And _then_ he pulled away.

Brown eyes flew open, wide and disbelieving as he stared down at Haytham's smirking face. Oh god NO. Teasing was one thing but this was just cruel! “No.” he hissed. “I might get warmer if you'd actually continue what you were doing!” Ah, but he was never going to, was he? Oh maaaan... Thumping his head back against the wall Connor bit his lips, his grip in Haytham's hair tightening momentarily. It wasn't fair, it so was not fair! What would it _take_ for him to finally get a blow job from his father?!

“... would it help if I said 'please daddy'?” he asked, voice tight, and glanced down again. “There's a fine line between teasing and cruel and you just crossed it.” Fucking bastard better make up for it.

-=-=-=-

He almost pitied the lad, honestly. Had he more of a conscience he may relieve him of such pain. As it were, brows furrowed and eyes wanton with desire, Haytham's own prowess increased, a delightful urge just short of glee filling him in entirety at such blatant desires manifested towards an act so simple.

But no, no; he found little joy from its commitance. Observing his erection, the term 'daddy' doing nothing but sending shivers to his spine in sheer devious delight, the flat of his tongue did trace a strip, from the base of balls all the way over the shuddering vein, the delicate foreskin light on his tongue before he ended his journey, pre-cum dabbed onto his tongue.

Bleh. Acidic! His nose wrinkled accordingly, eying the slit that produced yet another bead. Uhm, no. Delicious as the moans were, this offered little gratification, if any.

"No. That's all you'll receive in terms of oral pleasure." An index finger poked the slit, Haytham adding lightly, amused. "Sorry." But not really, not in the slightest. He'd manage to accomplish what he wished, offering a toothy grin before lips met mouth, tongue pushing it's way in. Grip regained traction, saliva slickening the way as he began to pump his hand, calloused finger squeezing hot flesh as teeth clacked, Haytham deepening the kiss. Passion, anger, raw urges.

Yes. This is what he'd missed, had craved.

His free hand twined in wet hair, droplets easing their way down fingers as he pressed their bodies together, prickled flesh clashing in a way both frigid and magnificent. His own pace increased, hand slackening in strength to pick up speed, the other far to busy fisting hair. In the flurry he bit down, teeth piercing a lip, and he was quick to suck the lip greedily, hungrily.

He never considered himself a huge fan of kissing as it were. But as Connor's tongue twined with his, sloppiness escalating, he fancied himself one, solely for the lad.

-=-=-=-

The whimper that left him was almost emasculating and Connor couldn't give two fucks about it as Haytham licked a wet stripe all the way to the tip. It was still nothing more than a tantalizing tease of what he could get, if only Haytham would man the fuck up and go through with it; taste certainly was no reason to say no as far as Connor was concerned, what with his father's literal bitterness.

“Bastard.” he muttered, keeping his jaws firmly pressed together as Haytham leaned in for a kiss but as much as he wanted to be stubborn and difficult, Connor quickly caved in and allowed the kiss to deepen. To hell with it... he wasn't getting a blow job today and he was still cold.

At least Haytham was still pumping him; all it took was wrapping his legs around a narrow waist to pull them close, allowing him to roll his hips up into Haytham's warm palm, and feel the hot, hard contour of his erection still trapped behind fabric.

His hands fluttered aimlessly, the kiss making him breathless though Connor made no move to pull away yet, and finally his fingers managed to find the rim of Haytham's boxers, pulling on them to create room, and slipped in, curling around stiff flesh.

With a moan Connor broke the kiss and dropped his head, his chest rising his falling harshly as he gulping in the frigid air, trailing one of the thick veins that ran along the underside with his nails – there was no need to look at what he was doing, he knew his father's cock as well as his own by now. He could do this blind.

“I'll have you on your knees one day.” he purred, scraping his teeth over the skin of Haytham's neck, just below his ear, tasting the rain, the saltiness of sweat and something that was uniquely Haytham, and he bit down hard enough to bruise. “You won't be able to avoid it forever. I'll have your mouth on me yet, dad.”

-=-=-=-

Talented was the tongue, sliding in an imaginary rhythm against his own. The world was nails scratching paths against him, shudders, subtle gasps. Utter relaxation at its finest, one of the rarer moments he could accept what was given unto him without fear. He could trust his lover, fully.

One could not describe the intoxication nor adoration he held for the lad, being one of the very few individuals to ever provide him with the safety.

The comment was thusly met with upturned lips, an elegant brow raised. "Mm, yes." A playful nip and he smiled, genuinely. "I'll next take a knee and offer my myself intimately, or better yet, allow you to raise a hand to my backside."

Sure the situation would not thusly escalate he gripped a large hand and did just that, hardly hiding a chortle as he gripped a wrist, allowing him a tap on the backside. "Oh _Connor,_ you magnificent beast." His best Leslie Winkle impression aside, he offered a wicked grin, stealing one last kiss before twirling his finger.

"Unless you've lube, I need partake in an activity I actually do not mind." Granted, he'd partaken only one other time since it was necessary, but it was far less demeaning then felatio.

And perhaps the faces and gestures the boy made were, in fact, an utter turn on.

-=-=-=-

Hm, tempting.

He'd still prefer a blow job, and he would not rest until he got one! It was something he wanted and couldn't get yet, so of course he'd continue to pine after it. For now though, he'd focus on other things, namely that Haytham had offered a different form of oral. 

Connor thought it strange, that his father was willing to push his tongue up his ass, but so reluctant to suck his cock. Ugh, sometimes he just couldn't figure him out...

But really he shouldn't be complaining. And one thing was sure; this _did_ distract from the cold. Pulling away from his father Connor turned around, getting to his knees and braced his hands against the rocky wall – he'd probably need the support soon. Too bad he hadn't brought any oil whatsoever; he really should start carrying that with him at all times, _just in case._ Today, this very moment, proved that one just could not predict when the mood struck them, or when the situation allowed for them to get intimate (or demanded for it). In that regard, this was a lesson; starting tomorrow he'd make sure to always carry a small bottle of oil in his pocket.

“I'm surprised that you don't mind this.” he muttered, offering a lazy glance over his shoulder as he spread his knees a little further. “It doesn't really make sense with your clear aversion to oral, but...” A smirk and Connor licked his lips, canting his hips up slightly. “Can't say I'm complaining. Now please... before my balls freeze off.”

-=-=-=-

Annnd they were on that again, were they? Most agitating habit the lad had, harping on such. It took away from the moment.

He said nothing on the subject, taking his agitation out on a tan cheek. Teeth met flesh, intent on leaving lingering marks. His emphasis on his irritation took the form of two simple words, though bruised, broken skin was met with a kiss. "Stop talking."

Honestly... Haytham shifted, wincing as his bare legs met with the sodden earth, calves exposed to freezing rain. He much liked the position regardless, propped upon elbows before the flat of his tongue made it's journey.

The raise of keloid, even the slight swelling of his rectum from last night's activities was but a pleasant press against his tongue. He'd be inclined to participate in the act more often if such was ever specifically requested, or should Connor ever forgo lube for a moment. Smooth, an entire expanse of smooth skin. From the back of his balls over the taint, over the swollen rim again, he stopped to suckle, tongue prodding, beginning to gain a sense of familiarity before plunging in, with little difficulty.

It was uncomfortable, but the sounds he heard could be _louder._ Choosing discomfort, one arm freed itself, spit slickening the palm before he gripped testicles, working his way up towards the shaft in fluid, light tugs.

With a final soft slurp he separated, in a far better mood then just a short moment prior. "I much prefer hearing this." Thick with lust, he nuzzled tan globes, nipping the mark he'd made prior, hand still fisting his cock. "At your ready, lad."

-=-=-=-

Stop talking?

Stop _talking?_

“Make me then.” Really, it wasn't that difficult. Unless Haytham _wanted_ him to continue talking shit, he was doing it on purpose after all. He was in a good mood, so what?

The first press of a tongue had him shiver, though not because of the cold; this was still such a... foreign feeling, the warm wetness of sleek but strong muscle pushing against him, ever so slowly coaxing his body to open up in a way fingers couldn't.

Brown eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted, choosing to focus on what Haytham was doing behind him, _to_ him, over being an irritating little shit. Soft moans and hisses escaped him, legs spreading wider as fingers pressed hard against the rocky wall. His hips jerked, stuck, awkwardly trying to push back against Haytham's face and into the hand that had come up to stroke his erection.

Connor felt his face heat up as he tried to picture what he must look like to someone else; on his knees, naked and with his ass in the air, wet hair clinging to his skin like spider webs and a clear flush on his face, lips pulled back and eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Behind them the rain continued to fall, drowning out the noises they both made, his moans mixing with the wet slurps of Haytham's tongue. Oh _fuck,_ screw his initial idea... perhaps he should forget the oil more often. While it was still better than saliva, it didn't get him _this._

Or would his father still do it if he asked for it, oil or not?

Connor didn't bother to swallow down his disappointed whine when Haytham pulled back, cold air flowing over his twitching opening, wet with spit. Cracking his eyes open Connor stared at his father over his shoulder, half-lidded and darkened with lust; a light sheen of sweat covered his skin, goosebumps still present all over but it no longer bothered him. He was cold, but it no longer registered.

Haytham was right. This really did work.

“Ready...” He was _more_ than ready.

-=-=-=-

Now that was an attractive look for him, the pristine collision of masculinity and utter arousal. A spectacle to behold he gave himself allowance to rightly do such. Tendrils of wet hair, skin that remained illuminated in the oddest circumstance. Broad shoulders, scars that faded to thinning white lines, the planes and contours of his body a thing to admire.

Delectable in entirety. He moved only to allow space, adamant on their position, intent on watching lust reflected in brown. Yet the rock they were under prohibited such, limiting movement. Frustration however was not part of his game plan, nor would he succumb to such.

"You're not going to like this." A. Blink, and he scooted the body underneath him further with a hard thrust, rain opening falling atop their heads. And again, his movement may be weaker but he'd the element of surprise, and no sooner was the shelter of the rock abandoned to the freezing rain, Haytham's attempt to avoid chuckling failed as he buried his face into a calve, which was now properly positioned by his face, the lad bent in two at the knees.

"Patricide is frowned upon lad." So were most things they participated in, but besides the point. Without further ado he spat into his hand quickly, rubbing such along his shaft and placed himself at the widened opening, pressing in slowly, breathless chuckles halting as a low moan erupted, swollen muscle giving way with slight hesitance.

Always seemingly tight, warm; he strained against the slight reluctance with small thrusts that tested muscle, having to bite back a slight shiver as he was pelted with rain, trees shielding what they could. "No being cross with me..." Even that left as a low, needy noise, eyes peering into brown. If he wanted him to stop he'd say so, the lad wasn't one to keep an opinion hidden.

-=-=-=-

Connor was given little to no time to even frown at the words – wasn't going to like _what?_ Before he knew it the world swirled around in his vision, Connor unable to keep his balance as he was promptly flipped onto his back and out into the open, away from the rocky overhang that kept them both shielded from the rain. “What the _hell?!”_ What in the bloody fuck?!

Connor grunted as his legs were pushed flat against his chest, his knees close to his face and he sputtered as the rain poured down, getting into his eyes and mouth. Oh geez _really?_ The ground was _freezing!_ At least under the overhang the dirt had been mostly dry, but here it was soaking wet and it was clinging to his back and ugh – his fingers dug into the soil as Haytham began to press forward, crunching leaves and small twigs in his grip; it was slow, the burn only minimal, the _heat_ that invaded him a sharp contrast against everything else. Crossing his ankles behind Haytham's neck Connor held on, trying to stay still to keep his body from being pushed up over the wet forest ground; small thrusts helped his body to open up further and accept the invading length trying to slip deeper, until finally he felt Haytham's hips press up against his ass cheeks. The cock within him throbbed and twitched and Connor gasped, letting his head flop back onto the leaves; oh god _full..._ he felt so full.

He tasted blood and Connor realized only now that he had bitten straight through his lower lip, a sharp sting though really didn't bother him that much. Needing a moment to just _breathe_ and adapt to the stretch it took him a few moments to even focus on Haytham, let alone answer the question and he blinked slowly, reaching up to fist Haytham's stringy wet hair. Should really pay him back for shoving him into the rain like this, but... first things first. “Less talking... more fucking. Get to it.” Playtime was over. No more teasing!

-=-=-=-

Now that was more like it. Warm muscles caressed, inviting, Haytham unable to slip any deeper. Lips twitched, and he dipped low for a moment, bestowing a kiss, soft lips a contrast to what he'd soon offer as hips retracted.

Fingers dug into the earth, twigs and leaves bunching and snapping as he gained proper leverage. His angle sharp and thrusts deep, there was only one way to do this, rain pelting his back, skin prickling.

Fast, deep thrusts. Nothing gentle, mud occasionally disagreeing with his pace, Haytham planting himself firmly if but to avoid Connor's back from slipping against the leaves and muck. Thunder temporarily halted his capacity to hear, but such was unnecessary. Searing heat compelled every thrust, the urge to remain buried deep compelling furious thrusts. Teeth grit, muscle loosening as he thrust onward, deeper, faster; it was a flurry of movement, without worry nor care. No trepidation, solely pleasure.

Every sense seemed heightened, every breath a sharp pang. Knees buried themselves in the fragile earth, heat keeping him fluid. One could smell the wet grass, taste the rain, feel the textures of grass, earth, hard twigs and the pitter patter of rain. Bliss personified, shared with perhaps the greatest lover he'd ever known.

It only spurred reciprocation of the notion, Haytham taking aim until he was sure he was _pounding_ his prostate as the rain did his back. Slick where their bodies, and their skin glided with ease, Haytham's moans low and baring the name, "Connor."

-=-=-=-

That was all it took to spur Haytham on and Connor's world exploded in a mixture of white hot pleasure and the burn that accompanied the sudden frantic thrusts his father forced him to endure. There was nothing gentle about it; the ground scraped against his back even as he tried to stay put, fingers closing around the thick root of a tree, pushing against that so he wouldn't slide over the mud too much.

He couldn't stay silent either, whenever he managed to make a sound between his gasps for air, each thrust hard enough to knock the breath from him. Not that it mattered, this deep into the forest no one would hear him... except maybe the bears. Connor couldn't stop his increasingly louder groans and cries as Haytham moved even faster even if he tried.

He couldn't feel the rain anymore, droplets mixing with the sweat and mud on his skin, nor did he notice the howl of the wind, its touch still freezing cold. Haytham's aim was _spot on_ \- and really, when was it ever not? - each hard hit of a cock head against his prostate blinding his vision with a burst of white stars, paralyzing him until he could do nothing but _feel and endure._

Squirming and arching and twisting Connor was vaguely aware that he was getting mud everywhere, but it didn't matter, trying his hardest to meet the fast thrusts to the best of his abilities as he squeezed his muscles in the same rhythm. One hand was still holding a death grip on the tree root, the other was still fisted in greying hair, holding Haytham close and not allowing him to pull away too far. Why, Connor did know... he just needed to _hold on._

Oh, he was going to be so sore after this but damn, was it worth it.

“O-oh _fuck,_ dad...!” It was with a high pitched whimper that Connor tugged him closer, pressure and heat beginning to pool into his abdomen, a clear sign that orgasm was approaching fast. He just needed one last thing... a small push to send him crashing over the edge.

Another hard tug on Haytham's hair and Connor tilted his head back, baring his throat to him, his expression scrunched up into one of ecstasy, and he barely managed to crack his eyes open as he made his last request.

“Bite... b-bite me!”

-=-=-=-

Indescribably divine. It was the sole way he could properly explain _this._

Constant, continual pleasure. No longer could he differentiate his limbs from Connor's, his body in sync, his own expertise exquisite, the clenching of muscle and pulling of his hair nothing short of erotic. Noises blended, the sound of flesh on flesh lost to the rain, Haytham following no rhythm, spearing with thrusts that had begun to ache. And through it all grey opened, if only to observe Connor's fast approaching orgasm, clenching muscles and higher pitched noise signal enough.

Captivating were the hardly cracked brown eyes, lips twisting to form an almost garbled command. "Bite... b-bite me!"

Straight to his cock he wasted not a moment, Haytham hardly having to lower his head, fingers threading and pulling as he dipped his head, right beneath Connor's right ear.

Jaws clenched and marked what was his, and still would not let up until the first dribble of fluid filled his mouth. And it hit him, hard, arms unable to keep him upright any longer.

Whether Connor heard him remained to be seen, the low growl by his ear repeated with his final thrusts. "You're _mine."_

He could not fathom why it left him, only that pleasure soared through him, and his head remained buried in the crook of his neck, tongue lapping at the mess he made, hips stilling as he reached orgasm, a harsh, long stream coupled with crushing release.

Heart pounding, and eyes shut he could not bring himself to open them, content to lay in the rain for just moments longer. So unlike him was the loss of composure, yet there he was, hands shakily running over Connor's sides. Hell... just _hell._

-=-=-=-

If it wasn't the stinging bite in his neck, hard enough his skin broke under the pressure of teeth and warm fluid what wasn't lapped up by a tongue dribbled down into his hair... it were the possessive words, dominant and claiming, speaking truth. He truly was _his._

He came seconds before Haytham did, holding his breath as he crashed through it, unable to do anything but cling to his father and hold for dear life. Any wildlife in the vicinity, if they weren't gone already, his scream had surely chased them off, his body bucking and twitching as he orgasmed.

He must have blacked out for a few seconds; Connor came to slowly, so very aware of the cold wet ground against his back, the sweat on his skin cooling in the chilly wind. His body _ached,_ feeling stiff and cramped, and he winced as he slowly unhooked his ankles and allowed his legs to slide down Haytham's arms. As much as he didn't _mind_ getting bend into a sandwich... his back did not appreciate it at all.

Haytham was still seated between his legs, and he couldn't quite tell if he had pulled out already or not; his ass was throbbing something fierce, but... but it was a good kind of burn, similar to the burn after a good work out or training session. He was definitely going to be limping for a while though.

“Dad...” his voice croaked and Connor grimaced, swallowing a few times to get rid of the dryness in his throat. “Dad, I...” He paused there, not quite sure how to say this. It wasn't like he had never said it before; he'd said it to his mother plenty of times, but that was different. The words had held a somewhat different meaning then. He'd said it to Bianca too, but that... too was different. But he needed to say it, didn't he? He _wanted_ to say it.

“I uhm...” Blinking Connor turned his head and pressed his nose into sweat damped hair, using his fingers to smooth it out – heh, the ribbon had gotten loose and was laying in the mud somewhere... but that was alright. He quite liked it when Haytham had his hair down.

They had experienced so much together, endured so many things... he wouldn't ever be able to put into words how much it all meant to him, everything Haytham had done for his sake. Connor wasn't _trying_ to sound sappy but... he was so very proud to be his son. “I love you, dad...”

Closing his eyes Connor wrapped his other arm over Haytham's back, his fingers drawing random patterns on his skin and relaxed. He didn't expect to hear the words whispered back to him. Not yet anyway. He knew his father well enough to know and understand that, even if he didn't say it... didn't mean it didn't mean it, or didn't feel the same in return.

-=-=-=-

Up, Haytham. Up so Connor doesn't catch something dastardly. Oh wouldn't that be a way to spend the remainder of a brief holiday, getting the lad who was obviously unaccustomed to the frigid temperatures sick. And he hardly ate enough vegetables, no matter the amount he cooked. No, he always seemed to gravitate towards meet and carbohydrates. Perhaps he should try smoothies, surely Connor had put on enough mass. Ah but the lad had begun to speak, Haytham quieting his mind, frown upon his features.

What was with all the stammering? Ignoring the urge to move he just barely kept his mouth shut, urge to 'say out with it, we haven't all day' lingering on his tongue.

He was never more grateful for his lack of sarcasm.

He loved him. 

Surely he'd known that, given the sheer volume of unfortunate events that failed to break them. Yet the words lingered, impossible to banish. He hadn't heard them stated towards him in so long, and ages had it been since he'd uttered them in kind.

And words proceeded to fail him, no matter how the emotion was mutually shared. It remained... weaponized. Cursed. Fingers left unintentional raised lines in Connor's sides, he was sure. A storm of emotion, draining and confusing passed. Every time he repeated the words, something _horrid_ occurred. His grip tightened, hands seeking calloused ones, knuckles whitening at his unknowing strength. He deserved to hear it. It was genuinely felt, and for... quite a long time, if he'd been honest.

Yet his tongue could not form the words. He should move, get the lad out of the storm, but he remained incapable, unmovable. When he'd the urge to speak, the tightness was palpable, eyes searching Connor's. "It's returned in kind, I assure you." And it was stupid, this notion, that uttering such would jinx what they shared. A man of science and reason, falling to superstition as a guide. Yet it remained true, and he could not take the risk. So much, he'd lost so much.

He would not loose Connor too.

"… I have a foreboding feeling of sheer horror. Understand lad, every person who has voiced such has either lied or has been murdered." Save for William, but that was platonic, different. He knew the meaning behind this sentiment differed, and could offer no verbal solace.

Instead, pecks, to his neck moist with rain, his chin, leading to his lips, a slow, chaste kiss given, hands abandoning larger ones in favor of running over cheek bones and into hair. "It's mutual, I promise." But he would not loose Connor too, oh no. And with shaky hands he detached himself, pulling free of the boy, ignoring the trickle and offering his hand. "Let's get you warmed up. A hot shower and soup, perhaps a passage of my novel by the fire..." Because he could still show him, even if he was at a loss for words. Gestures and intentions meant more then verbal verification- not that he appreciated Connor's admittance any less- simply that he had this to offer, as a token of his own appreciation, and he'd give all he could.

-=-=-=-

Well, he had no intention of lying to his father... or getting killed for that matter. And it really was mutual! His chest swelled with happiness, he could not wipe the grin off his face even if he wanted to!

Accepting the offered hand Connor clumsily climbed to his feet, cursing softly as a fresh spark of pain flashed up his spine. He was eager to get back to the cabin and its nice, warm fireplace; with the high of orgasm dying down there was nothing to keep the cold at bay anymore.

Their clothes were still wet, as he had expected them to be, and no less uncomfortable to put back on. His teeth clattered as he walked behind his father, their pace fast in an effort to both stay warm and reach the car as soon as possible. The trek back was shorter than he remembered it to be, and while sitting down in the passenger's seat wasn't exactly pleasant, Connor was glad to finally be out of the rain.

He wasn't much aware of the drive back to the cabin either; the interior of the car had warmed considerably as they drove and after spending hours outside in the woods, the warmth made him drowsy, balancing somewhere on the fine line between awake and asleep.

There was no arguing to be had about who got to take a shower first by the time they reached the cabin; they simply showered both at the same time. While a tight fit, Connor wouldn't have it any other way, enjoying the hot spray thoroughly, though not as much as he enjoyed roaming his hands over Haytham's body, cleaning away as much of the mud and sweat as he could as his father did the same for him (it really had gotten in a few embarrassing places).

Freshly showered and wearing clean, warm, and most importantly _dry_ clothes Connor settled in front of the fireplace, working on getting a fire going as Haytham warmed up a can of soup in the kitchen.

“I was thinking of perhaps sleeping here tonight.” he said after a few silent minutes; prodding the wooden logs with an iron poker Connor looked up into the direction of the kitchen, staring at Haytham's back as he stirred the soup. “I mean... the bed is a little small, no? We could drag all the blankets and mattresses and pillows this way, make a little nest here for the two of us.” Hehe, or a pillow fort. “What do you think, dad?”

-=-=-=-

A nest, huh? "Should I be offended and think myself heavy at your reluctance to spend the night under me?" A joke and nothing more, the spoon was set aside, Haytham showing his approval by giving the mattress a tug, the second following soon after, sheets, blankets and pillows laid out haphazardly, organized while he stirred their soup, removing a frying pan and starting on croquet monsieur, something Connor would probably like given the presence of melted cheese, butter, and ham.

He needn't balance the plates on his arms but did so none-the-less, determined to make one trip and allow Connor to lay by the fire. It was for naught, Haytham soon realizing he'd forgotten beverages, fetching that before settling beside him again, clinking the can of Mountain Dew (of course he need pack a case lest Connor suffer from withdrawals) and bottle of water together before settling in, uncaring for change as to what crumbs or minor spills may mark there shared sheets.

"To a fruitful hunt in the days to follow." And he paused, lips twitching. "And to us, my lad. May we soon retire from our burdens and pursue other endeavors with one another." As if he'd have it any other way.

~*~

A bountiful hunt it had been indeed, considering the turn of events. The weather remained clear for nearly the rest of the trip, dipping into cooler temperatures on their way to Quebec. Their last night had been a casual but more upscale one, Haytham eager to test his French (which his tongue still spoke quite well). A meal of bruschette de fui del mar and duck l'orange split between the two before the flight back midday. The only downfall had been the unfortunate two or three days after their enjoyable tryst, Haytham's pockets full with both tissues and cough drops respectively, hand scratching Connor's scalp at a red light.

Poor lad. He'd been so eager to hunt the entire trip, the final two days used for such. His trip to Quebec had been a scheduled all day event, but sheer guilt caused a change, Haytham bringing Connor for a dinner and a hotel stay, promising to take him back eventually. And he would truly.

Grateful was he that on there final day of hunt they managed to ensnare a large, male black bear- the treated skin would be shipped to them along with two deer pelts. Alas, two black bears, one for each of them. They'd look fine together on their floor.

"Pardon lad." And he meant it, recalling the fever from days prior, shaking Connor's shoulder as they pulled into the driveway of their home, parked outside the gate for the time. "I'll take your luggage, just go inside, I'll make hot chocolate." With extra marshmallows for his own foolish mistake- assuming the boy what with his diet and propensity for warmer temperatures could handle the bitter cold- such was in his upbringing, certainly with the militaristic background and cold roots, but not Connor's. Though he hardly seemed agitated with him... Altair and Exzio would open the gate but before they arrived, he offered a small peck on the lips, his apologetic actions hopefully a thorough enough testament for what he did not exude verbally. "To our room, lad." Perhaps it was the confession and impending guilt on multiple fronts, but he'd a protective streak and the urge to care for him, one that exceeded the notion prior.

-=-=-=-

“Are you sure you don't need me to help?” Connor asked as he stepped out of the car and glanced at the luggage they had stashed in the back, but the stare he received in answer was enough. Haytham would not accept help. Perhaps he felt guilty for the fact he'd gotten sick (which was to be expected after their little fuck fest in the rain, though _of course_ Haytham hadn't suffered any ill effects). Not that him falling sick was in any way Haytham's fault, but there you go... must be a father thing.

Altair and Ezio were indeed already waiting for him, opening the gate so Haytham could drive the car in and to the garage, big grins on their faces.

“So how did it go? Did you catch anything?” Ezio wasn't a fan of hunting (Connor had given up asking him if he ever wanted to come along) but his interest when genuine and Connor nodded.

“Yep, we did. Two bears and two deer. The pelts are still back in Canada but once they're treated and mounted into rugs they'll be shipping them this way. So...” Smirking Connor turned to Altair as they walked up the steps leading to the front door of the manor, eyes shining with an amused glint. “How's the girlfriend?”

Altair balked immediately: “Cristina is not my girlfriend!” he sputtered but the flush appearing on his face said enough. If she wasn't now, then she'd be soon... of course assuming she was interested in Altair in the first place. “She's in the backyard with Leo right now.” The way Altair mumbled those words, low and with an irritated, nearly frustrated tone had Connor blink, but Ezio just chuckled and elbowed the Syrian in the side.

“What, you're afraid he's gonna get his delicate green fingers all over her?” he quipped, snorting as Altair's eyes darkened further, and patted him on the back. “Stop worrying. If you hadn't noticed it yet, Leo's interest doesn't lie in women. That, and she's not that easy to flirt with... I tried.”

Connor blinked again... huh, Leo was gay? Really? Well, now that he mentioned it... it did seem to fit. It certainly wasn't news that bothered him in any way. Ah well... made no difference anyway. Didn't really come as a real surprise either. Perhaps, in a way, he'd already figured it out and accepted it.

“We've ordered Chinese for tonight by the way.” Ezio continued, balancing on the balls of his feet as Altair stomped off into the direction of the back door leading to the garden. “As much as we all love Haytham's cooking, you guys had a long flight. Now it's time to relax, no?”

“Hm. Thanks.” Yeah well... _if_ they could relax. Their time in Canada really had been like a well deserved vacation, and now it felt like they were back in the stress of work... back to dealing with dens and making plans and train and prepare for more _war._ Connor sighed deeply... there was something he wanted to ask his father about, something he hadn't dared to bring up during their trip out of fear it would completely ruin it... but he _had_ to ask. It was important, to both of them, and he _needed_ to know Haytham's stand on the matter.

Tonight... he could ask tonight.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Wha?” Blinking Connor glanced at Ezio, who eyed him with a curious expression.

“That is a saying around here, no?”

“Oh... yeah, but... don't worry about it. It's nothing.”

“Alriiiight? Well... I'm gonna go check on Leo, so...”

“Yeah okay... see you later, Ez.”

Waving Ezio turned and ran off towards the direction Altair had gone to, and Connor watched him go until he disappeared around a corner. Sighing he turned to face the stairs and forced his feet to drag themselves up towards the master bedroom, half wishing he was still at the cabin in Canada with his dad and not a worry in the world.

-=-=-=-

Well. That was interesting plethora of information, yet completely unsurprising. Even he need chuckle at Ezio's failed attempt at flirtation. He did try to muffle a undignified chuckle at Altair's irritation, though honestly, who didn't realize Leonardo was a homosexual? It was blatantly obvious to him, Haytham gathering the bags and walking up the steps, delighted when an arm eased his travels, supplying an open door for him. "You are a gem, good sir."

"That's what they tell me." Had he not been carrying a burden of a load he'd pat Malik's shoulder, pleasantly surprised at the state of things.

"It's actually clean."

"I threatened castration."

Huh. "Notably effective."

"With a female around, more so then usual."

Oh, Cristina, Cristina. Hardly a week in the household and she was already causing chaos. Speaking of chaos... Socks and Paws bounded in, either rubbing against Haytham's legs, sure to be covered in cat fur before Socks bounded off, Paws content in circling his legs repeatedly. "Yes, yes you missed your warm seat, didn't you?" Though Malik probably filled the void. Regardless, he'd two more people to beckon, and unpacking to be done. He set to work, rapidly starting a load of laundry, but not before setting a kettle and pot aside, milk in the small pot and water in the other. He'd chocolate somewhere- there! And a peppermint stick, no doubt. Such was made for Connor, and his timing perfect as dinner was served soon after.

But not before a very happy welcome from two people, four arms entangled around him. "Welcome home!"

"Thank you Leonardo."

"I'm so happy to see you!"

"I gathered as much, Cristi, my darling."

"If she's a darling can I be your kitten, meow?"

A snort of laughter and he seated himself, almost having to pry away from the affectionate duo. "Why not?"

It was nice, to be home. Or sort of. Connor seemed out of sorts, though it could be the cold. No matter. It was after dinner that he questioned such, Leonardo and Cristi to the garden, Ezio and Altair to Xbox and Malik in all probability to reading. It suited him well enough, Paws had taken to his lap the moment he seated himself in the living room, tea in hand.

"… Still under the weather, lad?" A press to his forehead, but he hardly emanated warmth, nor did he seem clammy. Just... odd, distant, perhaps fidgety. Eyes narrowed as he frowned. "You didn't attempt to beat your Mountain Dew record _again,_ did you?"

-=-=-=-

Connor shook his head, sitting still as to allow his father to press a hand to his forehead; no, he wasn't sick anymore. Thank god not, he'd gotten it pretty badly in Canada.

He supposed... this was as good a moment as any to tell him now, wasn't it? After dinner, like he had planned. It wasn't something that could be ignored forever, but he was so reluctant to bring it up. Haytham seemed so... _happy..._ happier than he had seen him in a long time. And Connor knew that he was the cause of it... but he didn't want to be the cause of a negative change of mood in his father. He'd have to break this gently.

“I was... thinking about something.” Connor muttered and stood up from his chair to take a seat next to his father on the sofa. “Something that has been bothering me for a while but I didn't quite dare to bring it up.” Pulling his legs up against his chest he wrapped his arms around it and buried his chin between his knees, keeping his eyes on the low coffee table.

“We got Cutter... and it's only a manner of time before we get to Silas too. But... what happens when we find Lee?” When, not if. Because find him they would. They had to. “What do we do? Who takes charge? He deserves to die just as much as the others, if not more... so who will... _do_ it?” He wanted to... he desperately wanted to be the one to kill Lee. For killing his mother... for sicking Silas and his men on him, shipping him off to Brazil... for being _responsible_ for all the shit that had happened in the last few years.

But Haytham had just as many reasons to deserve to be the one too... Lee had been his right hand man for years, his best friend... and then, betrayal. Stabbing him in the back with his actions, lying to him about everything, killing his to-be-wife and unborn child, and nearly getting his son killed as well.

They both had genuine reasons... so who?

The sounds from the Xbox were still playing, but Altair and Ezio had stopped smashing the buttons on their controllers, and while Malik's eyes were still on his book, they were no longer moving from left to right. Connor ignored it and turned his head to look at his father. “There's no way of telling when we'll find him, so... best we talk about it now, I think?”

-=-=-=-

Oh. Lacking the ability to recover, his crestfallen face instead turned to one that lacked emotion. Charles, yes. He sipped his tea, silent, interested. A pressing topic under the best of moods, and certainly he understood the trepidation. He too had something to say on the matter, and had for sometime.

The news hardly caught him off guard; Silas would die, Cutter had been eviscerated... Charles would have his moment, his time. And that is what he wanted predominately, when all this began. Yet...

"No, you've every right to bring this up, Connor." Dropping the title if only because the situation was grave, Haytham set aside his tea, fingering the rim. "I confess to have a contradicting thought or two on the matter myself, and equal hesitation in voicing such but... since you've offered the courtesy of honesty I should explain my own rationale." A rare moment, Haythams own quips of 'never you mind' and 'do it because I said so' lingering, an echo in his own mind. But he deserved more for the courage, it wasn't easy to speak of such a matter, to him no less.

Hence why there was a gentleness to his words, even if they lacked trepidation. "We were friends, he and I, for decades. Partners in business, and I see now the adoration that followed him was, in fact, more about my own ability to conduct business and put aside personal emotion whilst doing so. He was a cold man, is a cold man no doubt still." He'd always been such, all calculations and transactions, but that was just it.

"I was the same, for so long, Connor. Cold, calculating, inconsolable with my grief that soon manifested itself in strictly business." And your mother was the cause, an unspoken truth that he'd only begun to confront, though he never faulted her nor placed blame." I know it to sound odd, but we did have a bond of sorts, and many a late night shared, trips together, meals..." Words choked him, and he need look away for a moment, exhaling.

"He's done nothing but ruin my life, I am aware of such. And perhaps it's... an odd twist of sentimentality, but I've thought on the matter, Connor, hard and long. And it is in his best interest that he suffer, the longer the better. Reflection will affect him more then anything, a weekly visit where he can see me happy with you- that is what will torment him, not being torn limb from limb. " His chin high, he uttered the words, softly.

"It would be best to turn him to authorities."

-=-=-=-

“You are _not_ the same!” Connor hissed back. “You would _never_ conspire against a friend, or murder someone out of jealousy or... or work together with people like Silas. You wouldn't do so now and you wouldn't have done so then, no matter how 'cold' you say you were. Do not compare yourself to the likes of Lee, dad. You are a hundred times the man he'll ever be. A thousand!”

Having said that though, Connor couldn't make himself agree with the rest he'd said. He just couldn't. “You want to allow him to live?” It was spoken softly, a tone that did not match the hard determination in his eyes as he sat up straight. “What will turning him in to the authorities do? He'll be put away for life, so what? We both know he's a clever bastard, he'll use blackmail or whatever to _not_ make his own life miserable in jail. He is not...”

Gritting his teeth Connor struggled to find the proper words to make his point. He wasn't as well spoken as Haytham was, couldn't explain himself as well as he could. It made this difficult. “We are killing all those people for being involved with the dens... but you want to let him _live?_ After everything he has done, to you, to me, and to mom? You think that shoving him into jail will somehow be _worse_ for him than killing him? You... you want to allow him to keep a roof over his head, three meals a day and a chance to brag about all the shit he has done in jail and laugh about it too? No!”

Absolutely not! There was just no way! “He deserves to die! I _want_ to see him die even more than I want to see Silas dead! I can understand where you are coming from, but... I cannot accept any other outcome than his death. I just can't.”

-=-=-=-

This was what he'd been trying to avoid, though it was moot. No longer could the topic be swept aside, and staring back at him was the face of anger. In truth he was hardly surprised, and he found himself unable to blame the lad.

That did not however justify his final words. It was with a furrowed brow and frown that he spoke. "Your glamorizing prison, Connor, particularly his stay. A millionaire flight risk murderer? Maximum security prison, that's the most lenient treatment he'll receive." 

Persistent that he may sway his son, determination laced his voice. "Life without parole, twenty-two hours in constant lock down, rubbish food, no air conditioning in the summer, the inability to feel the caress of sun or wind- it is the deprivation that will drive him mad lad, I should _know,_ I... knew him." Or he thought he did.

The temporary thickness he suffered was soon awkwardly coughed away, his head hung suddenly. "I do appreciate the kind words, lad. I know I am not the same man, but I too have made regrettable decisions- not nearly of the same caliber assuredly and definitively, yet I cannot concede to your idea. I wish to taunt him, Connor, with the happiness I have found. Let me the occasional visit to flaunt, in a short time he will pray for death."

He wasn't getting through. That much was clear. They'd shared much, and the tangible pain he was met with was palpable. It pulled something inside long thought absent.

"Out of respect for you Connor, heed me. He is beneath your efforts, to low for even the mercy death would bring. I implore your reconsideration."

-=-=-=-

Connor's eyes flashed at those words, wide open and angry. Beneath his efforts? Really? “And since when do you get to decide what is beneath my efforts?” The words were whispered, but still loud enough everyone in the room could hear them.

Ezio and Altair shared a look as Connor abruptly got up from the sofa and marched away, though he did not leave the room. Instead he stopped near the far wall next to the fire place and lingered there, facing the wallpaper. Ezio was already halfway to his feet, controller dropped to the floor when the Syrian reached out and tugged him back down by his sleeve, silently shaking his head no. No... they couldn't help with this. Ezio couldn't help, despite being Connor's best friend. This was personal between father and son, and it was something father and son needed to work out on their own, with no interference from them.

Besides... even from where they were seated in front of the TV he could see Connor's shoulders shake - whether in anger or something else he wasn't sure - and the way his hands flexed, from fists into claws and back to fists until one suddenly slammed against the wall hard enough he felt Ezio flinch next to him. Yeah... best not to go near now. Connor clearly was having one of his 'moments' again.

Connor slowly pulled his hand back, staring at his bleeding knuckles; it took a few seconds for that fact to sink in and when he did, Connor found he didn't care that it hurt or was bleeding. Dropping it he leaned forward and rested his forehead against the cool wall, eyes closing. It wasn't fair... this was important to him, the _one_ thing he desperately needed his father's support on... and he wasn't getting it. It didn't make sense, jail was _not_ worse than death in this case. Simply put, Lee didn't even deserve to have a prison jail wasted on him!

Cutter. Silas. Lee.

Their deaths would bring closure. Their deaths would allow him to close that dark chapter of his life and move on. No more nightmares. No more... nothing. He _needed_ to see Lee dead. Why couldn't Haytham understand that? Perhaps he was being selfish... but Haytham was doing the exact same thing, wishing to keep him alive just so he could taunt the man. How was that _better?!_

Why wouldn't he understand?!

Gritting his teeth Connor pressed his forehead further against the wall and tangled his fingers into his hair, gripping the strands tightly. _Calm down._ The familiar pangs of anxiety were there, he could feel them... the beginnings of a panic attack unless he could get his breathing back under control. It was going too fast, he was wounding himself up way too tight about all of this, stressing himself out too much... but he couldn't shove it aside either, because that would mean giving in to what Haytham wanted.

And he couldn't do that. He couldn't. He wouldn't. It needed to be done _his_ way, but how to make his father understand?

Lee had to die. There could be no other outcome! He had to die. He had to, he had to, he had to!

-=-=-=-

He managed to avoid jumping just barely, the crack of wood splintering under the powers of a fist. He'd need plaster again, though he had spare paint and a roller, at the very least. Admirably simple was the fixable problem, yet Haytham gravitated towards it's simplicity if but momentarily. A one, two, three fix.

What created the minor issue... broad shoulders hunched, hands fisting hair. Yet one could not lay proper eyes on his face. Connor wore emotions on his sleeve. Anger and sadness, he could taste it and lamented silently that he was in a small way the cause. Charles was to blame on vastly greater plain, yet he'd a say.

"I'm deciding for you, Connor, yes. Only because emotion is blinding reason." Ankles cracked as with his first step, tea abandoned, forgotten. "Preventable naivete, Connor. A decision based on such blind prowess..." He'd a feeling Altair and Ezio were far more receptive to his words momentarily, thought hat was not his intent. This was personal, private... it extended far beyond the realm that he was yet ready to reveal in entirety to others. A shudder and he'd stopped talking. There was nothing more to say, not now.

"Perhaps this conversation should be had in confines of confidence." He'd been exposed enough, there was no need to allow him such a raw display in front of others when the situation could not be explained to the fullest. Father, son, and lover- the conversation surpassed that of their knowledge thusly.

With sincerest intentions he gripped a broad shoulder, squeezing tightly, his face as neutral as conceivably possible. They'd come to far to succumb to pressure. "We're better than this, I won't have Charles contribute to a verbal scuffle, he's done damage enou-"

-=-=-=-

Decide for him? Blind and naive? 

Brown eyes opened, staring at the blurred texture of the wallpaper so close to his face, and everything else Haytham said to him after that passed by as white noise, roaring in his ears and drowning out everything else.

So Haytham thought him incapable of making good decisions because... what, he dared to show emotions? Because he was naive? Oh he was sure that Haytham meant fucking well with it, but what gave him the fucking right to say such things, like... like he couldn't think for himself!

The thoughts were running rampant in his mind, swirling around like a storm. Suffocating, drowning, unable to focus on anything else Connor didn't realize Haytham was right behind him until he felt the touch on his shoulder.

And everything went black. The switch flipped. The button pushed... too far. Too much. He had never handled unexpected touches well when emotions ran high and clouded his judgment, but training and den raids had given him the outlet he'd needed in a way no amount of therapy ever could. After Church and Daniel Cross, there had been no more incidents where he lashed out because of a touch-related trigger.

Like Haytham had always wanted, he had gotten that under control.

Until now.

Connor was barely aware of his body moving, whirling around on his heels to knock the hand on his shoulder away. A flight-or-fight instinct Haytham had once called it, a long time ago, something he had been forced to learn in order to survive Brazil. It was an automatic response, triggered by the well-meant touch on his shoulder.

It shouldn't happen. Wrong target! Haytham wasn't an enemy! Not out to hurt him!

It did.

It wasn't a punch. Instead Connor's fingers wrapped around his father's throat and tightened, his face screwed up in a mixture of anger, fear and desperation. His eyes were wide open, lips pulled back into a snarl, like a frightened wolf cornered.

By the time the others in the room even realized what was going on Connor had already turned them both around and slammed Haytham against the wall, back first and skull cracking so the plaster dented. His fingers tightened, holding him up high enough Haytham's feet barely touched the floor.

Someone was screaming and yelling; it could be him, it could be someone else, he couldn't tell. Hands yanked on his clothes, trying to pry his fingers loose, to pull him away.

“Goddammit Connor, let him go!”

More white noise. Movement all around him, though his eyes could only focus on his father's face, quickly reddening under the pressure he was putting on his throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off his air supply. He should let go! He should-

_WHAM!_

Stars exploded in his vision and his fingers finally loosened; Altair had punched him in the face and Connor stumbled backwards, giving the Syrian enough room to sweep his legs out from underneath him. The air knocked out of his lungs as he fell onto his back with a pained grunt, and Altair was on top of him immediately, holding the bracer of his hidden blade close to his throat, his other fist curled into the front of his hoodie.

What...?

“What the _bloody fuck_ is wrong with you?!”

Connor could only blink as Altair yelled in his face. Ezio sat next to him, a disturbed expression on his face as he looked down at his friend, unsure what to do. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't just seen it with his own two eyes. It had only lasted for a few seconds, but... too long...

Connor's eyes were on the ceiling, his senses slowly coming back to him as control returned. His breathing was fast, his chest rising and falling rapidly and he became aware of a strange sort of tingling near his neck. It took him a few seconds to realize that it was the activated tazer of Altair's bracer, close enough his skin prickled. What was wrong...? What had he done?

Oh _god_ what had he done?!

“D-dad...?”

“Stay the fuck down!” Altair shoved down on Connor chest as he attempted to sit up and look at where Haytham had slumped to the floor. Malik had rushed to his side immediately, but Altair wouldn't allow Connor anywhere near any of them until... “What the _hell_ were you thinking? Just... what the _fuck,_ Connor? No, don't you move. I swear to god, I will use this if I have to!”

Connor stilled, though he trembled, and Altair ignored how brown eyes began to water as realization set in. Fucking hell... “Ez?”

Ezio's head snapped up. “Si...?”

“Would you go get Leonardo, please?”

“Leonardo? Ah... of course, but... don't you need...?”

“I have him. He's not going anywhere. Leo please, Ez, and hurry.”

Nodding Ezio quickly scrambled to his feet and ran out of the living room to do just that. Oh bloody fuck... he couldn't wrap his mind around this, why Connor even would... he could feel the boy's eyes on him, but he promptly ignored them, firmly increasing his hold on him whenever he felt Connor move.

“A-Altair... I-”

“Don't.” was his grim reply. “I don't want to hear it. Do you even realize what you've just _done?”_

No answer. Good. He didn't want to hear whatever fucked up reason Connor would have for trying to strangle his own father. Jesus Christ, there were just so many things _wrong_ with that! He couldn't look at where Haytham and Malik were from his position, he didn't quite dare to give Connor even a little bit of leeway to move after what had just happened. It was doubtful that Connor would attack him again with the way he was trembling and his breath was hitching, but shit... Haytham. He couldn't even make himself _care_ about Connor's discomfort right now!

“Mal?” he called out of his shoulder, and this time there was mistaking the worry lacing his voice. “Haytham. Please talk to me, man.”

-=-=-=-

He could not breathe.

A crack against the wall and his head almost swam, though he was all too ready to shake it off, if only that had been _possible._ He could not _breathe._

They taught them ways to get out of this, but opponents were not often this large, nor the person's son, nor lover. Fingertips pressed, trying to pry the crushing grip but to no avail, tippy toes just barely reaching the ground. And the panic, sheer and raw, overwhelming reason as obscured vision made all a blur. His hands did nothing. His feet- if he attempted to kick out he may suffocate. Trapped against a wall. Screams. The thudding pulse against him and a gurgling sound ushered as he attempted to speak.

Pressure turned to agonizing pain, nerves dancing. His neck burned. His eyes watered, reddening rapidly, his struggles increasing rapidly, fearfully. He would not let go! And he clawed, more of a desperate flail against arms that would not move. Let go!

And like that, he could breathe.

To the floor, a gush of wheezing breath as he feel with an audible slam. All was a blur, a haze surrounding him in entirety, face wet and nose running. Each breath was a pained gasp, the burning press of fingers lingering tight, and he could not bring his arms to function, to make himself presentable. Trembling so, it was an impossibility.

If someone had called him it was ignored. Only now was his vision returning, the press of a warm hand- he flinched, jumping, adrenaline surging, and Malik had the sense to say, as calmly as he could. "It's Malik, it's just me." Yes, yes. Just Malik. His aching head hit the wall with a thunk, breaths shallow and ragged. "Just breath, alright? Leo is on the way."

No... no, no, no! He struggled to stand, but his limbs would not listen. He'd never live down the humiliation. It was one thing, allowing the soldiers to see him in a state of disgrace but Leonardo, or heaven forbid, Cristina? No, no he was the rock, their leader, their guide, not some sniveling weakling to be pitied.

"Call it off." A croaking rasp and even that _ached,_ Haytham finally able to press a hand to his throat, wincing at the press of finger prints. "Allow me composure damn it, I will not have him nor Cristina observe me in such a state."

"Haytham? Mal, I can't fuckin' hear him."

"He said to give him a minute. Have Leo wait outside the living room, just for a few minutes." Not the smartest of ideas, but if Haytham was worried about his appearance. "… He's alright, or will be." Physically, anyway. Dark eyes followed Connor's form, observing the tears, watching Altair hover over him, his own teeth bared.

He hadn't seen it coming. Haytham's coughing alerted him, shaking fingers running through hair, attempting to fix it before pulling away with a wince. And pulling back a little bloodier then they should have.

"A minute more Haytham, Leo needs to look at that."

"At what?"

"He's..." It wasn't the best idea, repeating it aloud but the situation couldn't get much worse to begin with. "… bleeding. Head wound." Malik paused, offering a hand, one that was swatted away weakly. Haytham clutched the wall, desperate to stand... but almost fell forward, a wave of dizziness overtaking him, and if not for Malik he would have landed on the floor. There was a handkerchief in his pocket, unsteady hands wiped his nose, an arm his eyes, and he was guided, without anymore struggling, to the sofa, taking a brief look at his reflection in the television.

If not for the blood shot eyes and obvious bruising, all would appear normal. Good.

"Send him in." A pause, and grey eyes focused on Altair, ignoring the presence of his son in entirety. "Altair, you or Ezio take _him_ for a walk or something, yes?" A moment of hesitation, and Haytham spoke, only slightly louder then a grunt. "He's my son, regardless of his actions." He paused, lips twitching. "It's the only reason he breathes, presently." A burst of... no. No it was not the time. Leonardo was escorted by Ezio, utterly confused as Altair moved... only to bound towards Haytham, standing at the arm of the sofa. 

"I'm not going anywhere, not with _him_ and not without _you."_ Because if he wasn't here... no, he wouldn't even think about it, feet planted firmly as Leonardo found his voice.

"What happened?"

"Pff, let Connor tell you." A quip from Altair and amber eyes could have burned holes through the man, Leonardo's fingers gentle on the aching, already swelling bruises that coated Haytham's neck. 

But Haytham shook his head, handling it as he would a prognosis. "Strangling injuries, perhaps a gash on the back of my head. A possible concussion, though I am unsure." And through it all he paid no mind to the presence of his son, eyes averted, ignoring him in entirety. He needn't see him, nor hear him, and he repeated his request a second time, voice a hiss.

"I advise you to walk far away from me." Out of his sight, his mind- no longer did the lingering smell of aftershave comfort him, Haytham planning to bathe at the next possible chance he could. "I will send for you when I wish to speak to you, now _go."_

-=-=-=-

Connor was quick to crawl to his feet; even with Haytham's voice so hoarse there was no ignoring the underlying threat in his words.

He kept his eyes down, feeling the heated glares burning in his back, knowing that Altair was staring at him. Cristina stood in the doorway and quickly stepped aside as he barreled passed her, eager and desperate to get out of the room to escape what he had done, even if it was only for a short while. She had to be so confused, having lived here only for a week or so. He didn't want to know what she was thinking right now.

“Connor!”

He kept walking, ignoring Ezio's voice calling after him and broke off into a run, making his way to the kitchen as fast as his legs would carry him. He had done... the most horrible thing a son could do to a father... and why? _Why?_ He had snapped before but never... never like _this!_ He had broken his father's trust in him no doubt, the coldness in Haytham's voice had said enough as he sent him away.

Connor slumped into one of the chairs and flopped forward, resting his elbows on the table top, hands in his hair. What was he supposed to do now? Apologize, obviously, as soon as Haytham was willing to talk to him again... but he had a feeling a simple apology wouldn't be enough, not even close. What he had done... god, he could have seriously injured him! Maybe he had!  
He had fucked up, fucked up so badly!

He was aware of another presence in the kitchen, hearing the footsteps walk around the table before a chair scraped over the floor and someone sat down in front of him. He didn't need to look up to know who it was.

“... why did you do it?”

He didn't answer immediately, keeping his eyes on the table. Hot tears fell on the wood as he blinked, and it took him a few tries to find his voice to answer Ezio. “I d-don't know.” 

“Ah...” Licking his lips Ezio stared at his fingers, lacing them together and resting his hands on the table. What a mess... He had followed after Connor because he was his best friend, and no one else could be bothered with it; both Malik and Leonardo were fussing around Haytham – for good reason, make no mistake – and Altair... he hadn't seen Altair _this_ angry in a long time.

“He'll be alright, you know.” he muttered, his soft words still loud enough to drown out Connor's muffled sobs and hitches in breath. “The head wound wasn't that deep, nothing a few stitches won't clear, Leo said. Other than that he's just bruised...” Both his throat and his ego. “It will be alright, okay?”

“Will it?” was the muffled answer, and Ezio frowned.

“Of course it will! You just...” But what could he say that would help? He couldn't say Haytham would turn around and pretend it hadn't happened... knowing Haytham he wouldn't. He also couldn't say a sorry would fix things, because he didn't know what it would take. That was up to Haytham to decide. “Look, it might... take a while, Connor. But, chin up, okay? He's still your dad. You guys are so close, it's only a matter of time.” He reached out to pat Connor's hand, but quickly jerked away again when Connor shied away from him until he was out of reach.

He didn't want any touches. No hugs, no comforting pats, no... stupid bro-fists even. Touch was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

Sighing Ezio stood up and moved over to the sink, grabbing a clean glass and filling it with water. Setting this in front of Connor he sat down again, silently watching him grab the glass... his hands were shaking too much to even be able to drink properly.

He didn't know what to say to make Connor feel even the tiniest bit better. He wouldn't excuse his friend's actions; he should _never_ have done what he had done... but from the way Connor was shaking, barely able to keep his tears at bay... not even able to hold a glass properly, told Ezio enough; Connor had never meant to do it. He hadn't done it on purpose.

It had been an accident. A fucked up accident and it was going to have consequences. Just how big, he couldn't tell. Right now, all he could do was stay here and provide whatever comfort he could give simply by staying with him. Haytham had people care about him, but someone had to look after Connor too, and Altair sure as hell wouldn't do it.

It was a waiting game now, and the stakes were high.

-=-=-=-

He'd stopped wincing after the second stitch, as if that were the height of his issues. "A few more, alright?" The soft accent almost lulled him, save for the hand that reached for him.

He regretted it, flinching immediately, nails digging into palms. _Leonardo isn't going to hurt you, Haytham._ He almost scoffed at the innermost voice that whispered such obvious facts. No, of course he wouldn't. He wouldn’t kill the damn spiders, always ushering them into cups and opening windows, or escorting them safely into the garden. He could trust his team, all of them.

… almost all of them.

A palm to his neck and he jumped again, fisting his hair in frustration, quickly yelping as he disturbed the process. Wary of the looks he was bound to be receiving along with scathing pity he spoke, hoarsely. "Altair, go entertain Cristi for a moment, Malik, while I appreciate the pseudo exam the prodding is leaving me at wits end and Leonardo... stop."

"Haytham, you need stitches." And to stop moving, though he could hardly blame him. Purple bruises along his neck, the raspy voice, the constant twitching- it was sympathy that he spoke, softly. "I'll be quick, we're almost done."

"No. I need a moment. Alone." Blue eyes sparred a glance towards Malik, then Altair, glances exchanged. Another look, and he frowned, the wound a slow ooze but it would sting, scar. It wasn't his main concern, the scarring.

He'd never seen Haytham _shaken._ Angry, irritated, occasionally happy... but never like this. Far from meek as he was, hunched shoulders and the almost pleading note was something uncharacteristic. And still he would not meet anyone’s eyes, leaving them all to ponder what on earth he was thinking. With a small sigh, the end was tied and cut, Leonardo allowing him space and Malik following suit, rising.

"What will you do-?" But it went unanswered, even as Haytham swayed, shaking his head and muttering a small pardon to Cristina, passing the kitchen in a blur before climbing the steps without a further word. There was nothing to be said, mind surprisingly blank accept for some simple instructions he deemed fit to follow.

Replacing the load of laundry, the second and third loads were added subsequently, extra detergent included. All clothing was folded, and separated, Connor's in one pile, his own sorted and placed in appropriate drawers mechanically.

They would wash as he did, scrubbing every bit of himself. Shampoo burned yet was used in excess, his own anyway. Connor's own soaps joined his clothing.

And then their was the bed, linens changes and spraid with Febreze until one could no longer smell anything but … 'spring renewal' whatever that was. And in the process of tidying, Connors capless bit of after shave spilled, Haytham's fresh shirt soaked.

Bath two was considerably shorter, skin almost red, scrubbed raw and burning.

The shirt saw its fate in a small garbage bag, along with the small litter about. The carpets were shampooed and vacuumed, the tub bleached and dried. Every bit of what was his scrubbed, polished, de-scented and re-scented again. The final touches placed, Haytham drew his hair back, ribbon tied neatly in place. It ached to swallow. It ached to walk. Devoid of emotion the suitcase holding Connor's clothes and belongings landed with a thud inside what was to be the guestroom for William and Myriam, but circumstances ever evolved. He could send someone for him, but that wouldn't do.

Clear mind, robotic steps. Haytham never faltered, knocking on the kitchen wall, yards away from his son. One could view hunched shoulders from a distance, and Haytham spoke softly, voice hardly above a whisper. "Connor, a moment of your time."

-=-=-=-

It seemed to take ages. Connor still hadn't moved from his place at the kitchen table, hadn't said anything either, and Ezio was beginning to get restless. It had been at least an hour already and still no word... was Haytham worse off than they'd initially thought? No... no, if it was really bad they would have informed them already.

So what were they doing?

“Connor...?”

No answer, not even a twitch. He wasn't sleeping, that was clear. Perhaps Connor was ignoring him, but possibly he was simply so distressed with himself, he simply hadn't heard him call his name. Sighing Ezio looked at his phone, noting the time and grimaced. He wanted to know what was going on already but leaving Connor alone wasn't really an option either, was it?

Then again... he might not even notice him leaving.

The decision was quickly made for him; Ezio looked up at the sound of a knock and saw Haytham standing in the doorway, his hair still wet; he looked perfectly fine... except for the horrible, hand shaped bruises around his throat, turning a ugly purple color where fingers had dug into the skin.

Connor had finally moved too, sitting up straight in his chair and shooting his father a very fleeting glance before he looked away again. Knowing that this was about to get personal Ezio quickly stood up and made his way towards the door, pausing for a second to softly mutter; “I'm really glad you're okay... ish. Call me if you need anything.” With that Ezio looked back at Connor and then left the kitchen, making his way back to the living room and the others. Whatever Haytham had to say to Connor, it wasn't meant for his ears.

Connor, for his part, was horribly aware of the fact that he was now alone with his father; something that, under normal circumstances, were moments to enjoy and look forward to, chances to steal sneaky kisses and fleeting touches, or sometimes more.

But now... licking his dry lips he slowly stood up as well, though he made no move to set even one foot in his father's direction; it wouldn't be appreciated. “Can... can I say something first?” he asked and brown eyes flicked up to Haytham's face... instead they settled on the ugly bruises on his throat and Connor winced, quickly looking away again. He couldn't look at it, knowing that _he_ had done that.

“I um... I...” His voice was shaking and his eyes began to water again, he didn't bother to stop it, knowing that the tears would come anyway. “I know that... I could apologize to you a hundred times and it still wouldn't be enough. I mean, I'll still say them but...” Ugh he was stumbling over his own words again trying to make his point.

“I-it was an accident... I know it's n-no excuse but I didn't do that on purpose. I c-could _never_ hurt you on purpose. You... you know that, right? I d-did a horrible thing to you and y-you have every right to be angry. I know I betrayed your trust b-but... I l-love you dad. I didn't mean to do it, I swear and I'm s-so sorry. You can yell at me, you can punch me if i-it makes you feel better, just...” A sob. He needed a few moments to get his breathing back under control, to find his voice again and Connor looked up again, staring at the blurry figure of his father still standing in the doorway, his tears messing up his vision. “P-please believe m-me when I say that I r-really really never meant to h-hurt you like that. I'm s-sorry dad, I'm so sorry...”

He'd believe him... wouldn't he? 

-=-=-=-

The strands of normalcy he'd so pieced together for the past hour collapsed horribly. He'd prided himself, his ability to make concrete decisions regardless of emotion, a desirable necessary trait. Teeth may have ground at the apology, snark and distaste on his tongue- as if an accidental _strangling_ attempt made it permissible in anyway- but it was the words of affection that twisted him so.

A stagnant pond of emotion, kept at bay for sometime swept him away.

And he hated it, and hated Connor for having this affect on him, when he'd two simple sentences ready and prepared. His perfectionist ways cursed his name, while another part of him turned in shame.

His face contorted thusly, but it was his fist that made the first noise, against the wall. Not nearly hard enough to cause injury nor damage, just a thud, and he observed paint with breathless gasps, resolve torn to ribbons.

"What did I tell you, whilst in the forrest, hm?" Wiping away lingering evidence, Haytham only turned then, eyes betraying every emotion he'd attempted to hide. "Anyone, everyone who has ever, _ever_ made the claim has been proved a _fool._ My mother abandoned me and sent me away for saving her life, my father died protecting my own, Birch made an attempt on my life and your mother drove me _away_ and pretended you were aborted and _then_ was murdered!" 

There was not enough venom in the world to adequately explain his rage. But it hit him now, hands digging into his flesh, his vision blackening.

"I thought you different, I thought you _better_ than everyone, given our mutual experience and betrayal..." Unable to support the burden, collapsing onto himself was his last option, face burying itself in his knees. "I believed you." This time his fist did make an indentation, wall creaking under his wrath. "Fuckin _idiot_ I am! If Altair hadn't struck you I could be _dead,_ and your excuse is 'it was an accident'?" 

Perhaps Connor would have stopped on his own, but perhaps not. Hypotheticals were never his favorite topic and he let such slide. There was no way of knowing for sure, and that was the point.

He could have died. Potentially. And who could say if Connor would have let go?

Pathetic. He was pathetic. His need for comfort and touch now... wiping his eyes, the thick swallow provided more pain than anything.

 _Gain control, Haytham. Stiff upper lip_. With a sniffle he began deep breathing, and from there he stood on legs that wobbled. "I packed your bag, it's in the guest room. If you've any _respect_ for me you will stay there until I request your audience without some ridiculous excuse or guilt trip." He could not bare the sight of him, movements sloppy and legato as he forced his feet to move. He'd exposed enough to Connor, he'd not embarrass himself further and _sob._

-=-=-=-

Connor shook his head but didn't try to interrupt his father. He hadn't meant it like _that_ when he'd said it had been an accident! He'd been trying to say that he hadn't done it on purpose or with malicious intent!

But interrupting Haytham wouldn't do him any good now, or improve the situation.

The words were harsh and painful and Connor absorbed it all. He deserved Haytham's anger and disappointment... but he was not prepared to hear his next words. Looking up Connor blinked, bewilderment in his eyes before he slowly dropped his gaze again and offered a tiny nod.

He hadn't slept alone since Brazil... and now Haytham had kicked him out of their bedroom because... he didn't trust him anymore. It hurt, but what could he do but accept it? If this was to be his punishment...

And without another word Haytham turned his back on him and walked away, leaving him alone in the kitchen feeling even more miserable than before.

How could he ever fix this? Was it even possible? Or... had he really gone too far this time? Damaged their relationship beyond repair? He would try to make it better, do whatever it took to prove to his father that he could still be trusted, that they could go back to how it had been before... if it wasn't too late for that yet.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miscommunication is a bitch, and that's all I'm saying. XD
> 
> No real warnings for this chapter, just our usual dose of angst. As always, let me know of any typos. Open Office can't filter them all out.
> 
> -Necro

He had no idea how long he had sat there, at the kitchen table lost in thoughts. Minutes. Perhaps even hours. Ezio, accompanied by Leonardo had come back in after Haytham had left. They hadn't asked questions; Ezio had stayed at his side as Leonardo made some fresh coffee for him, but even now, long after the two Italians had left with a few comforting pats on his shoulder and the advice to get some rest, the coffee remained untouched, sitting cold in his mug.

Haytham hated him. His own father _hated_ him. And it was all his fault. How could he have allowed this to happen? There was something wrong with him. There had to be. It was a frightening thought, one he couldn't stop thinking about. Connor buried his face in his hands and rubbed at his eyes, sore and dry from all the crying he had done. There had been no stopping it. He didn't know how to fix this, where to even begin. Didn't even know if he could succeed... but he had to try. He had to. He needed his father to be there, with him and for him, and surely Haytham needed him too, even after tonight's events.

He hoped.

The scratch of the chair's legs scraping over the floor was almost too loud for his ears. He was tired. Exhausted. Yet Connor doubted he'd be able to sleep tonight, alone, in a room unfamiliar to him, without his father at his side, his arms around him. But if he was going to make this up to Haytham he needed to be awake and rested.

Almost as if on auto-pilot feet dragged themselves out of the kitchen and into the silent hallway. Through the windows he could see it was already dark out, but he had no idea of the time or whether everyone else had already gone to bed.

They weren't, which became clear when he passed the living room and heard voices come from within. Connor stopped next to the open doorway and tried to focus his tired brain to listen to Altair's voice.

It didn't take him long to regret having stopped to eavesdrop.

“-not taking anymore chances with him. I just can't. Not after tonight.” Altair looked around the room, seated on the sofa in Haytham's usual spot; at Malik in his chair, fingering the pages of his book; at Ezio, slumped in a beanbag and chewing on the drawstring of his hoodie; at Cristina, who sat next to him, her arms wrapped around her legs; and at Leonardo, who looked downright sullen in the chair across of him, fingers laced together in his lap.

It was Malik who broke the long silence first, slowly sitting up straight as he looked at the Syrian. “Altair, what you are suggesting, it's not-”

“Don't tell me it can't be done.” Altair hissed back.

“You're suggesting to kick Connor off the team!”

“And why shouldn't we? We've managed Bali just fine with just three of us inside! Haytham, me and Ezio, and you and Leonardo on the outside! That's all we need! We don't need _him.”_

“Altair, we can't just...” Leonardo sighed and waved his hands as he tried to come up with the proper words to explain what he wanted to say. “We can't just _lock_ Connor out of this. He's just as much entitled to see this through and get it done as every one of us.”

“So you want me to trust my back with him when we're out there? After what happened tonight?” Altair's amber eyes nearly spat fire as he stood up and pointed a finger at Leonardo. “You weren't _there,_ Leo. You weren't at Bali when Connor ran away to chase and murder someone else and left us trapped in a room! We were horribly outnumbered and getting shot at, and he just upped and _ran_ without a second thought. He left me _and_ Haytham behind! And then Sydney!”   
He turned to cut Malik, who had already opened his mouth to reply, off. “I haven't told you guys yet but after he killed Francesco he got all... weird. And it wasn't a clean kill either. It was violent and I'm not saying that Francesco didn't deserve that, but Connor can't seem to do anything but violent. I swear, there is something not right with him.” Altair tapped his head. “In here.”

“He's not crazy!” Spitting out the drawstring Ezio sat up straight, amber eyes that were only a little darker than those of his cousin burning just as fiercely.

“I never said he was crazy.” Altair replied calmly. “But he does have issues that need to be fixed. Until then, I say he's a danger, even to us.”

“Isn't that a little bit harsh?” Leonardo muttered softly. “To say he's a danger even to us?”

“He would have killed Haytham if we hadn't pulled him off. I don't say he wouldn't. You don't know if he would have let go in time.”

“That's for the same reason you can't say he would have killed his father for sure, novice!” Malik snapped and flopped back into his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose in irritation. He could... _get_ why Altair was acting the way he did.... why he was so protective of Haytham. He hadn't had much of a childhood, orphaned at a young age and adopted. But his step father hadn't been a proper father to him... not abusive, but distant. Altair had left home to join the military as soon as he was old enough, and hadn't looked back since. It was no wonder why he looked up to Haytham the way he did; the man was like a father figure he never had but always wanted. And perhaps that was why he was so hostile towards Connor all of the sudden; they had such a close father-son relationship... and then he had gone and done _that._ Perhaps Altair had taken that attack on Haytham more personally than he should.

“It's not his fault he has 'issues', Altair.” Ezio growled, wiggling his fingers to make the quote marks. “He's had bad stuff happen to him too-”

“It should not be used as an excuse, nor something to hide behind! Yes, I _know_ Brazil left its mark on him, so why is he still here if it's still affecting him so much? Whatever therapy he received clearly wasn't enough, so why is he not getting more? He should be getting admitted into some kind of mental clinic or something!”

“That's going too far, Altair. I agree he needs help, what happened tonight should _never_ have happened and Connor is definitely to blame for the most part, but _that_ is going too far.” Leonardo muttered. They should help them both, not just Haytham while turning Connor into a scape goat ready for slaughter! 

Altair turned to him immediately, teeth grit tightly. “Is it? Will you still say that when it's you he attacks next time? Or Cristina, what if he goes for Cristina next? You can't tell me he won't do that, because you don't _know!_ If he can snap and nearly kill his own father, he can attack all of us at some point. I don't think Connor even fully realizes how strong he is; I tried to pry his fingers loose but I couldn't even get them to move. I had to fucking punch him in the face to get him to let go! Fuck, if we hadn't _been_ there...”

“You know what bothers me the most about this?” All eyes turned to Ezio, who stood up from his bean bag, angry eyes locked on Altair. “How you're making it sound like Haytham is the only victim in this. I feel horrible for them _both!_ Haytham has every right to be angry and distrustful, every right to shun Connor for a while. Hell, I probably would have done the exact same thing were I in his shoes. I don't envy him at all and I'm going to do everything that I can to help him through this. But you conveniently seem to think that he's the only one affected.”

Ezio paused there and looked around, meeting Malik's dark eyes, Leonardo's bright blue, Cristina's fearful brown and ultimately, back to Altair's furious amber. “I followed him to the kitchen after Haytham made him leave, and I asked him why he had done that. He said he didn't know.” Ignoring Altair's scoff he continued. “He could barely get the words out of his mouth. He couldn't even hold the glass of water I had given him because he was shaking so much. He _knows_ that what he did was wrong; can you even imagine the guilt he much be feeling right now, Altair? I'm sure Connor is terrified that Haytham will never want to talk to him again.”

The Syrian snorted and shook his head, stepping away from the sofa. “Well, excuse me for not giving a damn.” he muttered as he made his way to the door.

“Where are you going?” Malik called after him but Altair kept walking without turning around.

“Where do you think I'm going? I'm gonna check up on Haytham!” Honestly... perhaps Haytham wouldn't even want to talk to him, but he just wanted to make sure he was alright. That head wound, he had a mild concussion... even if Haytham was already asleep it was important to wake him up every few hours, for his own safety and health. He wouldn't let Haytham down. He'd never let him down.

Altair was already through the doorway before he realized that he wasn't alone, and he froze, slowly turning his head to look at Connor, who stood against the wall and stared back at him with wide open eyes. Altair tensed; fuck, how much had he heard? His hand moved to the bracer he still wore, fingers hovering over the safety switch. Connor was still staring at him, his expression one of shock and disbelief. He could see the dried tracks of tears on his face and the moisture gathering in his eyes, but they didn't register as something he should feel bad about.

“You heard?” he asked with a low growl, and his eyes narrowed when Connor offered a tiny nod. Well that was just fucking great. “So what, you're gonna attack me now too?”

Connor's whole body seemed to tense at that and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Altair took a step back, his fingers still on the safety switch, and another when Connor made no move to lunge at him until finally, without another word, Altair turned around and marched towards the stairs.

Malik, Leonardo and Ezio appeared in the doorway moments later, the surprise at seeing Connor there clear on their faces. Oh shit...

“Merda... Connor, I-” Ezio tried and reached out for him, but his friend quickly pulled away and broke off into a run, back to the kitchen. He tried to go after him but Malik quickly grabbed his sleeve to stop him and Leonardo shook his head. “Let him go...”

“But-”

“I don't think he'll want people around him now, Ezio. Come on...” Leonardo's arm around his shoulder was gentle but firm as he pulled Ezio back into the living room, Malik following closely behind and joining Cristina on the sofa.

Perhaps there was a chance to talk tomorrow...

-=-=-=-

The sink was free of any shed hair. Drains declogged, not that they needed it. He breathed sparingly until he could no longer without burning his lungs, fingers loosening a lock on each window. Cold autumn air, that smell of fresh cut grass and rain. Fingers grazed his neck, bruises raised. He'd avoid food until necessary.

An extra sting and he'd remembered that his gloves found a home in the rubbish bin, traces of cleaning products lingered still. Lead feet dragged themselves, water splashed onto what he assumed was the afflicted area. Eyes hadn't the courage to face himself directly...

No. The fibrous towel rubbed painfully and still he scrubbed at his neck. He would not do this to himself. Crescent half moons dug into overly sensitive skin before he strode to the television, fetching a roll of paper towels and Windex. Yes. Clean. Everything orderly, neat, perfect. Not a hair out of place. Efficiency, cold clean lines and the clutter and rubbish gone. No more magazines, just literature of his caliber, and no more opening four bottles of after shave and alternating; what wasteful, ridiculousness. Externally the television was freed of dust and soot, Haytham purging the DVR, stopping the moment Pirates of the Carribean blipped. Delete. It was one button. Grey eyes narrowed, teeth indenting his lip.

Fascinating. The pieces clattered about the floor furiously. A new remote then too, he'd need that certainly.

Knock, knock, knock.

Warily he glared, pieces slipping into his hand. "Mhm?" Even that ached.

"It's Altair." 

Of course. Both relieved and irritated he muttered. "Annnnnd?"

A pause, and there was hesitance, the sound of the boy doubtlessly shuffling about. "… Concussion, had to make sure you were... ya know, had to wake ya." A pause and he chewed his lip, hood flipped into place. Right, yeah. He wouldn't want to be bothered. "I wanted to be sure-"

It was the smell that hit first when the door opened, freezing air and bleach. He coughed, twice, but stood his ground. Every hair in place, the inquisitive gaze on him remained just that, Haytham tight lipped. He was fine. He was alright. He was put together and the room spotless. "… wow, you did a hell of a job."

"Yes. I often do."

"Yeah... 's true." A pause and he scratched his chin, unsure. "Your head I mean, you alright to do this?"

"Hm? Oh the tidying? Oh yes. Fit as ever." He was fine. Truly. He reiterated regardless, amber still on his own. "I've experienced a multitude of... hardships and the like through the entirety of my existence. This... is hardly a blip worth mentioning."

Altair didn't say anything. The bruises were purple already, standing out against the collar of his shirt. "Yeah." He didn't have that literacy, that... that way with words Haytham did. Maybe it's why it came out, he didn't have that filter, didn't have that parental guardianship that ever took the time to show him differently.

"I just wanted to be sure, ya know? Like I didn't want you to feel like you had to do this alone." He was botching this, looking like an idiot. At least Haytham had the decency to be quiet, although if Altair paid enough attention he'd have seen the edge soften, knuckles whitening as hands wrung. "You're always there, when shit's bad for us so... I uh... wanted to return the gesture. But you're a lot stronger than us so you probably don't need it."

Heel turning, Altair shrugged a final time. "I can come back and check on you later-"

"I'd rather you didn't, there's a show on the telly about Blackbeard." Clear hesitance, and Haytham wiped his eyes, coughing twice. "… I've no one to watch it with."

He wasn't the sharpest tool, but Altair nodded, jamming a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. "Extra butter popcorn?"

"Yes."

"Wanna do shots?"

"Oh, oh _yes."_

Cool. A lopsided half grin, and Altair was running back into the kitchen, Haytham seating himself on his bed. It seemed William had a new contender in his coveted spot of dearest friend.

~*~

"Let's do shots, he said." A glare, and Haytham didn't bother to hide his smirk, whistling as the final pancake of the short stack that would be their breakfast was flipped, Altair murmuring angrily. "It'll be _fun,_ he says."

"Now I never claimed it would be fun, boy. Don't misquote me. And you offered doing shots in the first place." The spatula waved, an extension of his finger. "I said that it would be a cleansing way to reinvigorate us after arduous labors in the past." A sausage remained speared on his fork, Haytham dangling it in front of Altair. "Hungry yet?"

"I hate you, and everything you represent... and why the fuck can you handle liquor like that?"

"Like what. Altair? I _can't_ handle liquor, I was done after five shots, you just so happened to drink three and wound up an inebriated drunkard of a man with one hell of a hang over. You handle alcohol like I handle..."

"Emotions?"

"Yes." Nail on the head, actually. He placed the short stack by him, Altair murmuring but attempting to eat after what was his third cup of coffee.

"So you upchuck after you've had too much 'emotion'?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I don't upchuck." It was almost a smile, Haytham straining to speak over the crackling pan. "I glisten with illness, a symbolic vampiric delight but with even more nausea."

A snort, and Altair took a nibble of pancake, chewing slowly. Last night had been pretty good considering what he'd been trying to take Haytham's mind off of. It was really just tolerating each others programs, eating and drinking excessively until they fell asleep. Or until he fell asleep anyways... the dark circles under Haytham's eyes told no lies even as he smiled. But he tried, and for a little bit, it helped. Or he liked to think it did.

At least Haytham had been talked into making him breakfast thanks to his constant nagging. He'd get Haytham feelin' like his old self soon, two weeks tops.

The sudden clicks and subsequent shut of the backdoor made him wince, his voice a bark. "Hey asshole, some of us are hung over!"

But Haytham's lack of response, his lack of fucking movement... shit, it looked like he forgot how to breath, the bob of his Adam's apple visible from feet away. 

Connor had just entered the kitchen.

Grey could not avert themselves, words lost on his tongue. He had come from outside. Had he slept there, outside, all night? He needn't look at the clock, aware of the time. Had he eaten? Was he hungry? Had he slept as poorly as he did? Words halted themselves, jaw clicking shut.

_Connor hurt you, you blithering idiot._ It echoed, as if injury need more reminder. Just _yesterday._ He should be upset, he should bare red rimmed eyes and mourn the loss of his presence nightly for... days or weeks to come! The decision was his, Connor should rightfully be at his mercy.

Yet the disheveled mess before him left his mouth dry. He looked as Haytham felt, behind the forced smiles and attempted camaraderie- that was no fault on Altair's end, he'd tried, and Haytham was grateful. But it was more then the presence of a son that he sorely missed, if even for a single night.

"Ah!" Right, yes. The grease left a reddened welt, Haytham setting the pan aside. He should revel in his defeat. The very fact that Connor was obviously emotionally stunted.

Yet it offered him no solace. The plate he held clinked against the stove, hands incapable of properly lifting them without faltering.

He wasn't hungry anymore. Placing what was his own stack of pancakes onto a plate and a few links, he set it aside, unable to halt twitching fingers from knocking the food around.

And he never hated himself more, pointing to the plate. Emotions made a pathetic traitor of him. "Eat." A solemn command before he washed his own hands for several moments, eyes incapable of staring at the sight before him. What happened to his anger? His rage? His self respect?

Right... 'love' happened. Choking on the words he coughed instead, miserably set to staring at the sink. It made a fool of him again.

-=-=-=-

Fresh air! He needed fresh air, he needed to be _away_ from that house and the people inside! The backdoor fell shut behind him with a slam and he ran, down the path into the large garden behind the manor. The moon shone bright enough for him to see where he was going but his vision was blurred with tears, and he stumbled over roots once or twice, nearly falling.

The garden had been cleaned up quite a bit since they had arrived, the gravel paths visible once again now that Leonardo had removed all the overgrown plant life growing on either side, but that was only the front. Connor stopped near the large round pond in the back and stared at the murky water thick with algae and lilies. Leonardo and his green fingers hadn't been able to work their magic here yet, it still resembled a jungle. 

With his hands on his knees he leaned forward and gulped in the chilly night's air, feeling hot tears slide down his face; funny, he hadn't thought he'd any left. But what he had just heard in there... it wasn't right to eavesdrop but they had been talking about _him_ behind his back! Granted, Malik hadn't said much, he never did, and Leonardo and Ezio had clearly been on his side as well, but Altair... Altair!

He'd thought they were friends! They had trained together, joked together, laughed together and had looked out for each other and now... now Altair thought he belonged in some kind of mental institution!

… and maybe he did. After all... who in their right mind would ever attack his own parent? What made it worse was that he barely remembered doing it to begin with. He remembered the rage he had felt, because Haytham disagreed with his opinion on what to do with Lee... but after that, white noise. Like he had blacked out. The next thing he remembered was falling to the floor after Altair had punched him in the face. Everything before that was just a blur, of screaming and struggling and the pulse of an erratic heart beat beneath his fingers.

Sniffling Connor settled down in the grass and wiped at his eyes before feeling the bruise on his cheek Altair's fist had left behind. He couldn't go back inside, not now. He didn't want to run into any of them, not even Ezio. He'd just... stay here for a while.

Dragonflies and mosquitoes zoomed over the surface and the croaking of frogs was nearly deafening. This place was nice... perhaps he could offer Leonardo to help clean up the pond... maybe put some fish in here... one day...

It became more and more of a struggle to keep his eyes open. Muffling a yawn behind the palm of his hand Connor shook his head, trying to focus on the autumn chill to stay awake. There was only one place where he'd be able to get a decent rest, and it was the one place he wasn't allowed to go anymore. He couldn't sleep here... couldn't...

~*~

Connor jolted awake after what felt like only a few minutes, and it took him a while for the fact that the sun was already up to sink in. Blinking he stared up a the sky, watching a few sparrows fly overhead looking for berries; early in the morning, with light grey clouds dotting the sky. It had started to rain, a typical London drizzle, light but no less annoying and Connor groaned. The ground was wet beneath his back, and bits of dirt and grass clung to his damp shirt and hair as he sat up. This brought back memories... and just like that he felt it. Like a stab straight into his heart, the knife twisting cruelly.

There would be no avoiding it today. He couldn't stay out here forever. He had to go inside and face them, face Altair and most importantly, face his father and begin the difficult but hopefully not impossible task of mending their relationship. But where the hell was he supposed to start?

Ah... he'd have to time to think that over during breakfast. His stomach growled loudly and Connor grimaced at the rumbling feeling. Getting to his feet he winced, his limbs stiff from sleeping on the wet ground, and began to make his way back to the manor. He'd start with apologies, as many as it would take and then some... if he could get Haytham to listen to him. That wasn't a given... but they still lived in the same house. Haytham couldn't avoid him forever.

_Unless he kicks you out onto the street. Wouldn't be the first time._

Connor stopped in his tracks and squeezed his eyes shut. Oh god, please not that! It was very well possible Haytham could and would resort to that and then where would he go? He knew no one else in London and his other friends were half a world away!

_Easy... calm down..._ Deep breaths... surely his father wouldn't... wouldn't stoop that low. Blinking furiously he reached for the door and pulled it open, quickly scooting into the warmth of the kitchen to escape the cold drizzle outside-

"Hey asshole, some of us are hung over!"

Connor froze and his head snapped up. Altair and his father, in the kitchen, here with him! Shit! He hadn't expected to see them here, to run into them so soon! Oh shit oh fuck oh _damn!_

Altair was seated at the kitchen table, but his expression was very much like it had been last night, full of fury and distrust at what he considered complete and utter betrayal. Haytham was more difficult to read, already having turned his back on him and busying himself with the frying pan until- “Ah!”

Connor set a step forward at the same time Altair jumped out of his seat, and he froze again, amber eyes fixing him in place. Right... like an overgrown guard dog, the Syrian looked like he would literally try to bite his head off if he tried to get within reach of his father.

The plate of pancakes shoved towards him came as a surprise, as was the command to 'eat', but now it felt like he had left his stomach back outside, along with his hunger. Altair's hostile behavior and his father's distant attitude – though he could understand both – it ruined his appetite completely. Almost made him nauseous. It hurt. It just twisted the knife deeper. “Thanks but... I'm not hungry, dad...”

Toeing off his sneakers he reached up to wipe some wet strands of hair out of his face, his eyes on the floor. Perhaps he'd grab something to eat later... when no one was around.

-=-=-=-

Each thought overlapped, collided until they jumbled, indiscernible. The trivial, the mundane, worries...

"You'll eat." But a moment through the opulent cabinets, with eyes that squinted he managed to locate the correct bottle, tablet removed. He plodded gently, aware of multiple eyes on him, back turned to them both before he set two bottles aside. The glasses he brought were soon filled, one placed in front of Altair, the second pushed to Connor, pill nestled beside it. Eyes had yet to meet Connor's, nor would he force them.

"Decongestant, Vitamin C, breakfast." Each was pointed towards with specific intent. "You were sick for three days not but a week ago and spent a chilled night wet and outdoors." A throb in his chest and the pain momentarily reached his eyes, thwarted only as he pushed himself. Knuckles whitened on Connor's glass, his breaths uneven. The happiest moments of his life were shared with the very same person he could no longer bare to face.

"Haytham."

He'd mourn the loss later. It was choked, but he managed. "I'm fine, Altair." His index finger nudged the plate.  
"You're still my son, Connor." Again he parted but this time he headed towards the living room, Altair following his gesture, walking ahead of Haytham when instructed, though close by just in case. "No one can change that, lad." Painful as it was he turned his injured neck, the half glance fleeting before he walked away. "Not even you."

-=-=-=-

Connor had no words for that, not even as Haytham left the kitchen.

He didn't hate him...

He didn't hate him! Haytham wouldn't have referred to him as his son if he did! Connor flopped into a chair with a high-pitched sigh and stared at the vitamin pill his father had left for him, a sense of relief washing over him. It wasn't much, but it was a definite start on the way to mending this! He had feared that his father would never want to talk to him again!

And with the relief his appetite returned as well; the pill was quickly swallowed, the glass drained and Connor dug into the stack of pancakes. Pancakes had never tasted this good before!

When he finished he even took to time to clean everything away, something he usually never did because Haytham always took responsibility for the dishes. Giving it a quick wash and dry and setting it all in their respective places he turned. Well then. Shower.

Haytham and Altair were still in the living room, catching the sound of the their voices as he passed. Haytham hadn't sounded that... rough as he had last night, but even now he still sounded hoarse... he could still hear the damage. Connor's good mood disappeared as quickly as it had come and he swiftly made his way up the stairs, not keen to run into any one else and be forced to talk.

His hand was already on the doorknob of the master bedroom when he remembered that Haytham had kicked him out. Right... gritting his teeth Connor walked further down the hall and stopped in front of one of the guest rooms, pushing the door open; a quick peek at the bed confirmed that he was supposed to be sleeping here for however long it took. His suitcase was there, stuffed with his clothes and personal items. Sighing deeply Connor grabbed some fresh clothes, toothpaste and brush, shampoo, hairbrush, towel and anything else he needed to make himself presentable again, and looked around for the bathroom.

Except that this guestroom didn't have one.

“Damn...” Of course he could always use one of the _other_ bathrooms, but... he would really much rather prefer to shower in the one he shared with Haytham. And really, was that so bad? It was _his_ as well! And besides, Haytham was downstairs, so it wasn't like he would bother him or anything, right?

Right! Decision made! He'd shower, and _then_ they could talk this over and fix it!

The first thing Connor noticed when he entered the master bedroom was how _clean_ it was. Seriously, it had never looked this sparkling clean before, it was almost frightening and unnatural. Creepy even. Grimacing he quickly scooted into the just-as-freakily-clean-bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar as he always did and quickly stripped, leaving his muddied, damp clothes on the tiles to put in the hamper later. 

-=-=-=-

He'd waited, full expecting the question Altair asked just moments after he'd settled down. In fairness he'd given Haytham a moment to find a suitable channel, and allowed him to sort through the clinking bottles before he settled on one. Amaretto and Baileys Irish cream, no milk to water down the taste.

Altair said nothing, a heaping serving of each dunked into black coffee, Haytham draining the contents halfway. Only to replace it with another shot of each.

"If it still hurts why?" Yeah maybe it was personal, but no one else saw what he had. He was the one to check on Haytham, he was the one who made sure he was up every few hours. He wasn't blood but it gave him a right, didn't it?

"It's as I told him, he's my son."

"He almost killed you last night."

"That's a stretch." Tender fingers rubbed bruises, a sigh escaping him. "I don't forgive him for it, not yet anyway. If that's your concern."

"Whatever." Calloused fingers traced bruised knuckles. "I get it, he's your kid, yeah. Doesn't mean he should get instant clemency. What he did was criminal, and everyone wants to just skip over it like it didn't happen-"

"Where is this coming from?" Skip over it? Heavens no, far from it in fact, but the scrape of a chair silenced him, Hayham waiting until the old wood no longer signified a lingering presence. "I've no intention of forgetting what happened nor of forgiveness immediately."

"You just gave him-"

"Breakfast? Yes. And not that it's your business, but he was ill for three days in a cabin not a week ago. I'm angry, yes, I've every justifiable reason to be, but I'm his _father_ regardless." Who'd been absent for years, through no fault of his own. And yet skin prickled uncomfortably under an amber gaze. "I owe his mother that much. I've still a bond, no matter if weakened."

"That must be nice. He's lucky." 

A moment and Haytham remained silent, watching the aggressive chews and irritated gestures. "I never thanked you for intervening."

"It's cool."

"No, I don't think it is. It's easier to stand up in a room where you're considered a hero with guns blazing. It's more difficult to protect family from other family." He could but look at the images on the walls, the picture of he, his parents and sister catching his eyes. "I don't know what may have, nor can I rightfully theorize. I do however, know you were the first person to come to my aid, and the only one to make sure I was intact afterwards." Fingers clutched the shoulder by him, and there was a moment of silence, broken by only the pitter of footsteps, bright eyes peaking into the living room.

"There you are. I knocked on your room, the shower was on-" Cristina jabbed a thumb to the kitchen, frowning. "And you both beat me to making breakfast, not cool."

"I'm sorry, the shower?" 

She nodded, a white seal plush- where on Earth did she get that?- clutched in her hands. "Yeah, I thought you both were still sleeping but when I heard that I wanted to ambush you with something even I can't burn-"

"The gesture is appreciated, darling, thank you." Rising to his feet, Haytham declined the silent offer, Altair almost on his feet. "Make her something special, I'll take care of this." Footsteps rapidly faded with a long stride, Cristina taking the remote and flipping through the channels and grabbing a pancake from Altair's plate, smiling in excitement. "Ohhh Power Puff Girls! Sweet!"

The shower... his shower. The open door to the guest room revealed the full suitcase, the door to his own bedroom closed but unlocked, and he stepped inside immediately, the smell hitting him.

Steam muddled through a crack, and with the door slightly ajar he could view the damp clothes, his silent desire for maybe, just maybe one of the other bathrooms to be broken which could prompt Ezio to use his shower because the lad lacked boundaries completely unanswered.

Sopping clothing over the pristine bathroom. Bleach gave way to his own body wash, yet he knew too well who'd use it. He observed the silhouette with nothing but remorse.

Hours of work. Scrubbing to the fibers to rid himself of the smells and there it was in a burst. Heat curdled through him and yet he shivered, hand fisting greying locks.

What about his boundaries? The parameters he just established? Already trampled upon, made null. This could not do. Connor had yet to rightfully serve the remainder of his punishment! Did a cold night on the ground suddenly seemingly make the boy 'even' after what he did? Is this what he thought?

Blatant disrespect for his requests when he'd attempted nicety. A sliver of anger, and Haytham turned from the shower, eyes locked on the door.

"Connor, finish quickly, and get out of my room. Immediately." Away, away from sopping clothes that he wanted to pickup and launder. Or even worse, smell.

"We'll talk in the guest room..." Somewhere safe from the smells and lingering presence...

-=-=-=-

Warm. Comfortable. Relaxing.

The hot water beat down on him, washing away all the dirt and grime from sleeping outside. In his familiar shower cabin it almost felt like everything was normal again.

Almost.

Until he noticed his father behind him. Connor jumped and whirled around on his feet, almost loosing his balance. Haytham's back was already turned to him when he pushed the shower curtain to the side and winced. It was the way Haytham had said it. 'Get out of my room.' Even though it was theirs.

And really, he refused to believe that his father was able to sleep peacefully alone, without him sharing the blankets! Surely it hadn't become a one-way thing?

He turned off the water with a sigh and stepped out, reaching for the towel. At least... Haytham had offered to talk. That was something. But it was more than clear he still wasn't welcome in this room anymore, the room that was _his_ as well, and part of him felt insulted that Haytham was taking it away.

The other, larger part of him knew he deserved it.

Finishing drying himself off Connor quickly pulled on some fresh clothes, combed his hair, brushed his teeth and scooped up his old clothes, putting them with the used towel in the hamper. His feet felt heavy, dragging themselves forward as he made his way back to the guest room and noting the open door. Taking a deep breath he knocked on the door frame and looked up, glancing at his father seated on the unused bed next to his suit case.

“Sorry...” he muttered and took one step inside. “But this room doesn't have a bathroom, and... I needed to shower, so...” An awkward shrug and Connor brushed a hand through his damp hair. He wasn't quite sure what else to say. Yes, he had wanted to speak to his father, to talk about what had happened, but now that he had been given the chance... now that Haytham was there and seemed willing to listen... he didn't know what to say, aside from more apologies.

“So... um...” He licked his lips and his eyes flicked back to Haytham again, lingering on the bruises only half hidden by the collar of his shirt. It was hard to look at. “How... how are you feeling?” He _was_ worried; Haytham seemed fine but despite the fact that he knew his father quite well, he was still difficult to read.

-=-=-=-

Truly baffling was the question, even with moments to prepare for the conversation at hand? How _was_ he? Surely this was some tom foolery or an attempt at lighthearted humor, and a brow raised, in wait of the punch line.

Instead a thickness filled the air, Haytham blinking, and it was a little, incredulous voice that murmured, 'By god, he's _serious.'_

"… In between preparing for our next den raid and all that's happened in the last twelve or so hours, I'm..." Depressed? Inebriated? In a constant state of incredulity, disappointment, and humiliation?

"… existing, I suppose."

A far better answer then the other he conjured, Haytham all to aware of Connor's presence. Hopefully he didn't expect the question returned in kind, Haytham instead moving to sit on one end and pointing to the other. The other wayyyyy on the far end of the room.

"I'm sure you know what I wish to speak of, but first I'd ask you not to do that." Elaborating, eyes narrowed. "You are fully capable of moving your bag to another room and seeking refuge there, or using another shower. _That-_ the excuse you concocted, irritates me as I specifically told you to stay away from my room. Don't do it again, not if you're trying to appease me in the slightest." A lackadaisical attitude would get him nowhere, he needed reinforcement. Connor had already tread across a rule, he was likely to do so.

"I need set boundaries, things you need adhere to until I am satisfied. It goes without saying that this..." Fingers tugged his collar, and a leg crossed over another, Haytham's hands folding neatly onto his knee, "… is not something that will vanish overnight, nor will the aftermath." Simply, those who assaulted Haytham Kenway had either died or met the bed of a hospital for an extended stay. And yet here he was, offering clemency. It was unheard of, Haytham coughing, in dire need of another serving of Amaretto. It calmed him so... even if his words had begun to slur every slightly.

"But before I begin, I need know this will never, _ever_ happen, not to me, not to anyone in this household. I don't care _why_ it happened, that's your concern to deal with, just that if it does again... you will be residing in New York once more, and I to continue this, even if it need be alone." It was not what he wanted, a longing in his next words. 

"I've a preference lad, but I can not allow favoritism and fond feeling to influence my better judgment. I am to keep our team safe, at any cost, and that is the only reason why I'm grateful this bit of rage was directed toward myself and not another." And in truth he did want to know why, but he'd a feeling his answer would not satisfy him, and left such as was. 

"Before I begin my terms- you know I hate interuptions- is there anything you've to say?" All tension remained in his throat, in fingers that picked at jeans anxiously. He wanted this over with. Hopefully Connor could prove himself and satisfy his own urge, but he wouldn't rush himself. This was the first experience he had, dealing directly with someone who wronged him immediately _after_ the fact as opposed to giving chase or stewing overseas.

It proved far more strenuous.

-=-=-=-

Existing... right. Well... at least it wasn't a negative answer per say. And yeah, he was right... he could have easily taken his suitcase and moved to one of the other empty rooms that did have a bathroom attached to it, but the fact of the matter was... he didn't _want_ any of the other rooms. That made it so difficult. The words 'it's not just your room' were on his tongue but Connor swallowed them down again, realizing that speaking those words out loud wouldn't do him any good now.

He stayed silent as he moved further into the room and sat on his appointed spot on the bed, resting his elbows against his knees and bracing himself for a scolding, or a lecture, or both.

And there lay the problem, didn't it? He didn't _know_ if this would ever happen again. By the gods, he hoped not! But that didn't change the fact that it had still happened. As desperate as he was to promise his father that it would never ever happen again... he simply couldn't. He could be lying if he did. And the threat that followed made it worse. If it _did_ happen again... Haytham _would_ kick him out. It was a promise and it filled Connor with ice cold fear. What was he supposed to do then? What was he supposed to do to prevent it from happening again? Everyone would be so disappointed in him if Haytham sent him back... Myriam, Shaun, William... all of them. He wouldn't be able to face them even.

Connor didn't immediately answer when Haytham gave him the chance to speak his mind. He realized now that sorries and apologies would not actually help the situation... they weren't what Haythan wanted to hear. If he ever forgave him for what he had done, Haytham would do that in his own time and on his own terms and no amount of apologies would speed up that process. Unfortunately he had enough experiences with his father where he had to explain himself for something he had done to know that he was just _bad_ at expressing himself. Even if his words were genuine, and he truly, honestly meant every word he said... they still wouldn't be what Haytham wanted to hear. That, or he'd interpret them differently, or think they weren't good enough.

So what could he say that would help? Other than the truth...

“I want to promise... that it will never happen again. I really want to.” Lowering his head further Connor made no move to scoot closer to his father, or to even reach out for him... it wouldn't be appreciated. “But I don't know if I can, and I know it's not what you want to hear.” A shaky inhale of breath and he moved his arm up to wipe his sleeve over his eyes.

“I overheard the others talking last night. They didn't know I was listening, I caught them talking on my way from the kitchen and they were talking about us so I stopped to listen. And Altair said a few things that... w-while I don't want to accept it I know he was probably right. I don't... have the self control you require of me. I wish I did, I _thought_ I did, but I don't. He said some... harsh things but they were probably true and... and that is why I can't promise you it won't happen again. I'd f-fix it if I knew how, but I don't.”

A sigh, another brush of his sleeve over his eyes and Connor raised his head to look at Haytham, trying to make it clear that he was speaking the truth and to please, _please_ believe his words. “The last time I fucked up like this I spent a night in jail. This is punishment, I get that and I will accept it and do my best to respect your terms.” No more showers in his bathroom, amongst other things.

“I want to fix this, dad. I want to _mend_ what I broke. I don't want to spend my nights alone any longer than is strictly necessary, and I know you don't want to either. So I will promise to do what I can, everything that I can, to earn your trust again and take whatever steps that I can to ensure that something like this doesn't happen again, but that is all I can do. And if that's not enough...” … then Haytham was expecting too much from him. He wasn't perfect, far from it, but he'd do his damnedest to be the best son – and lover – he could possibly be, if only Haytham would give him the chance to prove his worth once more.

-=-=-=-

The truth. It was everything he's asked for, and everything Connor respectfully delivered, and consisted of nothing he longed to hear.

What had Connor overheard? He didn't want to know. Given Altair's tendency to speak with disregard for ones feelings, it would be of no surprise if it was something achingly vulgar. And again he was torn, Connor deserved to _feel_ horrid, he acted horribly. Fingers twitched and before he could help himself they'd fetched the tissue from his pocket, fondling the edges.

"I do not wish to spend my nights alone, no." Placed on the center of the bed, he pat the spot if only to gain Connor's attention. "Nor do I wish to incur random wrath, Connor. I'm at... an impasse. If you're incapable of promising further harm, I see no way of regaining trust.... I'm sure you understand, I will not allow my self to become a victim again." He winced, the admission burning as much as the wounds. Again. A haunting term, and skin prickled, hands rubbing over his arms.

"I'd preferred a swift kick to the stomach, or a punch to the face. That I'd look past, Connor. That is spur of the moment rage, and while intolerable I could... attempt to understand, the loss of sanity in a moment of passion." Never would he believe simple assault to be a valid, preferred expression of emotion on his being, but that would have been quick, wrong but justifiable, only lasting a _moment._

No. The lines had blurred the night prior, his own will to fight thwarted. He appeared a weak leader, someone who could be overpowered by a man in their prime. Almost... defective. Nails traced muscles through the dress shirt. Someone who was overpowered not by an enemy but by a team mate.

"I face death in the dens, I should not have to fear it in my own home." It was whisper, barely audible, knees raising to his chest and arms enveloping them. "I shouldn't fear the person I wish to share a life with." A flutter of movement and he dabbed under his eyes, tissue crinkling loudly.

_Your parameters, Haytham. You're supposed to be setting a guide. Composure, Haytham. A stiff upper lip._

"… A thousand p-pardons, I've seem to have lost myself." Hands moved quickly, traces of sadness condemned to a tissue. "Just stay in your designated room until further instruction, physical contact will be severely limited, meals will be served regularly, I'll still do your laundry, just set it aside..." It wouldn't stop. It was a flood, head pressed against his knees as shoulders could no longer bare the weight.

Who could he turn to? There was no one, only William and he was overseas. No one here knew the truth, no one would understand. How was he to function, provide information on the dens? How was he to lead? How could he be an example, how could he heal knowing it could happen again?

"I'll see you at lunch." Ignoring his own stumbling, he carried himself out of the room, out of reach, and into the kitchen, finger tips shaky but insistent on grabbing cognac before his blurry vision managed to lead him back into his own room.

The door shut with his weight, and he sunk to his knees, incapable of drowning sorrow without companionship. The burn of cognac was his only friend.

-=-=-=-

He desperately wanted to comfort him... to move closer and pull him into his arms and just _hold_ tightly. To physically show that he was there for him.

But he couldn't. Haytham didn't want him close anymore, didn't want his comfort anymore. Or maybe he did, but he simply wouldn't accept it, either because of his own pride, or because of his fear for him.

Connor wasn't given another chance to say anything as Haytham suddenly stood up and left without so much as a goodbye, all but fleeing the room.

No contact... he wasn't to talk to his father unless Haytham made it clear he could. He wasn't to seek him out, he wasn't to enter the master bedroom, he wasn't allowed to touch or to come near. He was to avoid him until told otherwise.

His suitcase fell to the floor, pushed off with his feet, spilling clothes and what not everywhere, and Connor curled up on the bed, pressing his face into the pillow. Fine... he'd stay here... there was no one else he wanted to see now anyway.

~*~

The sun was already nearing it's highest point in the sky when someone knocked on his door. Connor, still curled up on his bed, responded by pulling the pillow over his face. He didn't want to talk. Whoever it was, he wished they would just go away.

More knocks, a little harder this time. “Connor? I know you're in there.” Ezio. Gritting his teeth Connor tightened his grip on the pillow and ignored the rumbling of his stomach. Ezio was a good friend, his best friend, but right now he didn't even want to see him. Please go away...

“Are you coming down? Leo made lunch...”

Lowering his fist Ezio narrowed his eyes at the door when he still didn't receive an answer. He _knew_ Connor was in there and it was clear he was being ignored. Couldn't really blame Connor he supposed, but still... “If you're not hungry now I'll bring you some later, okay?” Still no answer and Ezio sighed, stepping away. He was worried... according to Malik Connor hadn't come back into the house last night when he went to bed. That could mean a number of things but surely Connor hadn't spent the whole night outside because of what had happened and what he had heard? Ugh, this was all so fucked up... Haytham and Connor weren't talking, and they were both hurting and... and he could easily understand why Haytham was avoiding his son but he wished they could just _make up._

Altair wasn't making it any easier either; he had insisted on being the one to call Haytham down for lunch but Leonardo had talked him out of it so Ezio, who had initially offered, could go instead. Last they had seen Haytham was still in his room.

“Haytham?” he asked softly when he reached the master bedroom, and knocked on the door softly. “You okay in there? Leo and Altair made sandwiches but... if you don't want to come down I can get some for you if you want...?” Oh please don't ignore him too. Altair would break the door down if the man refused to show himself, and honestly... Ezio would help him with it! “Haytham?”

-=-=-=-

A glass was not a requirement. Burn after burn, he accepted the tang and subsequent sting. Numbness, he sought it, embraced it, until he was a blithering mess, unable to lift legs without trembling. It wavered, everything did, cognac sloppily recapped and left aside, bleach fetched and poured however sloppily, over pristine tile. Clean. Absent of gloves his already aching fingers chipped, nails weakening and skin raw and he rubbed.

When white gave way to red he stopped, examining. The burn was retched, nerves raw. But he could smell him, and numbness wavered, Haytham scrubbing until it ached.

He meant to open a window, but in a haze of drunken work, the effort was lost. Instead he showered again, faltering with every step, vision blurring. Too much alcohol.

He missed the toilet the first time, but regained his way the second heave and subsequent ones until his jaw ached. Teeth brushed he turned to sleep, woken hours later.

And he was still tipsy.

"One moment, Ezio." And slurring. A look in the mirror and a grimace reached him, a sigh audible as his shirt soon after hit the floor, collar coated in mess. And the toilet remained as such, but at attempt to lift another shirt brought forth a his, raw fingers flecked with dried bits. Right. Well. Perhaps it could stay for a moment.

A sweater vest and new, pristine shirt... he combed his hair quickly, retying the ribbon. Breath? Adequate, if a bit boozy but the bile was certainly gone. Eyes? Much less puffy. All about appearances, that's all it was, and he forced a half smile, leaning against the door frame as he opened it. "… Mhm?"

It was a struggle for Ezio, the heavy smell of booze almost oppressive. "Lunch, is ready downstairs." Tracing his scarred lip with the tip of his tongue he paused, observing the overly polished exterior. Not one hair out of place. It screamed wrong, typically even Haytham wore jeans, had his hair loose or in a long braid, wisps escaping as he constantly walked or moved. There was neat, then there vacant, false... _this._

It was creepy.

And more importantly, alarming.

"Are you going to come downstairs?" He almost wanted him to stay in his room, the empty gaze going straight through him.

"… I've to bleach the bathroom but yes I will join everyone momentarily." He paused, almost smiling, though it far from reached his eyes. "Aspirin and wine, if not too much trouble."

Wait, weren't those not supposed to be mixed? But before he could ask he was met with a face of door, Ezio blinking.

It was minutes later that Haytham joined, seemingly ignoring or genuinely unaware of the concerned glances as he stumbled for a moment.

And made his way directly towards the wine, sipping heartily, food untouched. "Connor won't be joining us?" 

It was almost airy, Ezio answering. "Uhm, no. I'm bringing him lunch later."

"Ah."

"How are you feeling?" It was Leonardo who asked, Haytham picking at the crusts of his sandwich and placing them aside, something Connor was prone to doing, before leaving with it, murmuring. "I'll be back momentarily."

Ignoring the glances, he set to the stairs, halting in front of Connor's door before staring at it for just a moment, suddenly uncertain. The plate remained set aside, as he strolled to his room, paper torn from diagram before he scribbled neatly. Pushing the note under the door he knocked before fleeing, allowing the lad a moment, walking into the kitchen and resuming his place.

If anyone thought to ask what he'd just done, the question would remain unanswered as they became more pressed to get food into Haytham, who deemed to empty the contents of the bottle much more important than eating.

-=-=-=-

Another knock, and one again Connor ignored it, until he caught the sound of something being pushed though the crack between the door and floor, into the room. Frowning Connor sat up and stared at the folded up piece of paper. What the...

Sliding off the bed he walked over to the door and snatched the piece of paper up, opening it. He recognized the hand writing immediately.

_'Connor,_

_Stop moping. Giving me space doesn't equate to stop eating my food and breathing my air. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be here. All I've ever dared to love, I've lost._

_Prove me wrong. I implore it._

_Haytham._

_P.S. Ignore the blood. Accidental drunken faux paus.'_

Connor eyed the tiny smudges of bloodied finger prints and crumpled the little note in his fist before tossing it through the room. Had lost all he had ever dared to love? Haytham hadn't lost anything! He was still here and he still loved his father! That had _not_ changed!

He had _not_ lost him yet, despite how bad things had gotten! “You haven't lost me yet, you fuck.” he muttered and dragged a hand down his face before he glanced down and eyed the tray with sandwiches Haytham had left for him. His stomach growled again.

~*~

The following few days were among the most horrid of his life so far. While they couldn't be compared to whatever was involved with the dens or Brazil, they were horrid in a different sort, in a way that made him feel just as miserable. Simply put, he had never been this lonely before.

Most of his time was spent in the guest room – he refused to dub it as 'his room' because it wasn't – or in the overgrown part of the garden, near the pond. As requested, he tried to give Haytham space, but it was difficult. Connor hadn't thought it possible to miss a person this much, but... it hurt. He missed him so much it physically hurt. He missed the fond tone in his father's voice when he spoke to him, missed the happy twinkle in grey eyes when he looked, missed the warmth of his body and the comfort of his arms. Missed having him close. Whenever he thought about it, his chest would clench up until it felt like he was about to choke or drown, like a giant hand was trying to squeeze him like a tube of toothpaste.

Altair still treated him with alarming hostility, always lingering near Haytham and glaring at him whenever he was around, as if he was a time bomb about to go off. At least the others had continued to treat him as if nothing was wrong and Ezio still hung out with him, tried to get him involved and keep him distracted. They had started to plan another den raid, but Connor had missed most of the meetings, refusing the leave his room because it meant sitting with everyone else and talk about how to best kill the next den leader. All he knew was that the location was somewhere in Russia, and that was it.

He didn't feel like sitting there, knowing Altair was glaring silent threats at him, knowing that Haytham avoided his gaze completely, feeling the eyes of the others burn into him whenever the subject turned to something violent... there was a tenseness in the room during the meetings when he did attend, one he did not like at all.

His appetite had started to suffer as well; he still ate of course, but he took his meals to the guest room when he could get away with it. If it wasn't Haytham sometimes leaving a tray in front of the door, it was Leonardo or Ezio insisting he ate something. 

He sleeping pattern had taken a full 180 as well. Hell, he barely slept at all anymore; after so many years of sharing a bed with his father, acting like his little spoon, the fact that he was now alone under the covers kept him awake. And when he did sleep, his dreams were often restless and angst-filled, filled with harsh words and flash backs. They weren't quite nightmares, but they did nothing to make him feel better in the morning.

And he couldn't talk to anyone. Ezio had offered to listen, Leonardo had... hell, even Malik had called him to him once and told him to spill, but it wasn't... it wasn't what he needed. He needed to talk to someone who stood outside of all of this. Who wasn't involved.

Connor stared at the name in his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button. They hadn't spoken in quite some time... there was a good chance he was busy with work and wouldn't even be able to pick up the phone. But Connor hoped he would. Desperately. His thumb pressed the call button and Connor held the phone up to his ear, taking a deep breath and staring up at the ceiling.

Please William, pick up...

-=-=-=-

Not even an attempt. Tight lipped and borderline inebriated, the past two weeks had been exactly this. He'd hoped the note written would sway the boy.

He needed space, yes. He needed a moment to feel oppression splinter and unwind. Sleep evaded him, alcohol fueled him, and cleanliness took place of warmth and silly comments and adoration. And through it he persisted, meals placed before Connor's door, questions asked concerning his well being. Attempts at cooking meals he liked all to what end? To comfort him?

Another glass of wine, and he ignored the sloshing numbly. The marks had faded to a yellow, the edges still visible but barely so. And yet he ached more now then when it began.

Did he mean nothing? Surely the lad could not sleep well... and yet there were was nothing but footsteps and the closed guest room door. He sent Connor meals. He was concerned about his health. He... he gave up his corporation and waged a war for _him._ It wasn't asked, he did these things as a father, as a lover. And yet here he sat, half a bottle of wine in, incapable of holding down much food with his stomach in a state of constant irritation.

He'd stuck to drinking in the evenings after concerns were expressed, but...

No letters. No questions. No meals, no silly attempts- he knew Connor wasn't perhaps the sharpest man he ever bedded but the boy watched Disney. A rose- while horridly cheesy and worthy of much snickering- would have at least been a _gesture._ A box of chocolates, a... a card, hand made or bought or... fuck, even an offer to do the dishes after his meals, or just checking up on him in the evenings but... nothing.

He'd received not a damn _thing._

And what was once sadness morphed, a bitter aftertaste lingering far after the wine was depleted. He was the one hurting! Granted Connor was too but that was the point! He was being punished for something he did wrong, but instead Haytham was again the one to usher about comforts. It was his turn to be injured and placated, yet he received nothing of the nature.

Another call forwarded on his cellphone, and he hadn't the strength to fetch another bottle of wine. It hadn't been one sided... it _couldn't_ have been, not with the niceties exchanged. Perhaps Connor had something up his sleeve, something planned? Yes, that had to be it. He was planning, plotting... and soon his affections would be revealed. The possibility was the last bit Haytham clung to, eyelids heavy as he settled in for a restless night. He'd prove him wrong. He wouldn't abandon hope for the boy.

~*~

Dead in the middle of a late lunch, but it couldn't have come any more wanted. Even if it meant a glare from a certain feisty beau.

"Don't give me that look, it could be important."

"You aren't even looking at me."

"I feel the intensity of your gaze, m'dear." Shuffling for his phone, William found it while it still vibrated, proudly displaying the call. "See? Connor. I haven't heard from Haytham in a while, I was growing concerned."

"You should grow concerned about my dainty size seven being shoved in an orifice."

A blink towards Myriam and he grinned, eyebrows wiggling. "Kinky."

A small giggle and she shook her head, grabbing her carton of take out, relaxed in one of his oversized shirts and little else. "Go answer, and then lemme talk. I haven't heard from Connor in forever either."

"Mhm." Setting the television to mute he cheerfully picked up. "You both have a horrid way of neglecting to call your Americanized friends, should I be concerned? Oh, and how was Canada? The bear skins you posted on tumblr were impressive."

-=-=-=-

Connor blinked down at his phone – so cheerful! He heard William laugh in the background... but he wouldn't be laughing after he was done explaining, that was for sure. Sighing he put the phone to his ear again and shrugged; “Canada was fine... crappy weather but other than that it was good. But um... I called you for a reason, if you have a minute...”

Fuck how to even begin... this was a lot harder than he had thought it would be. Connor had thought about what to say and how to explain before calling William, but now that he had him on the line and held his attention, it wasn't so easy to explain now that he actually had to do it.

William was silent on the other line, waiting for him to speak, and Connor licked his suddenly dry lips. Just get it over with, man. Just tell him.

“I'm... kinda in trouble. Dad and I got into a pretty bad fight and... and I hurt him pretty badly.” He didn't wait to allow William time to respond to that and kept talking; it was easier to continue now that he had started and he _had_ to get this off his chest. “And it's my fault, I know that, and I'm trying to figure out how to mend this but he... he won't even talk to me. He pretty much said to leave him alone and stay out of his way until he makes it clear that I'm allowed to seek him out again and... and I'm just at a total loss right now. This has been going on for two weeks. How am I supposed to make it clear to him that I'm sorry and that I want to fix this when he doesn't even want me near him?”

Taking a deep shaky breath Connor ran his shaking fingers through his hair, needing a moment to get his voice back under control. It felt good getting it off his chest but shit, this was hard. “I'm s-sorry for dumping this on you but... you're his best friend, William. You still know him better than I do and I was... kinda hoping you would perhaps have some advice for me? Because I just don't know anymore.”

-=-=-=-

Brows furrowing, Myriam watched the myriad of expressions waft over features, a frown marring her own. "Everything okay?" 

It was mouthed, William shaking his head in seeming incredulity. "Alright, Connor, slow down just a moment. Breath, calm down, and let me begin to understand what occurred before I give any advice." Myriam stayed silent, watching the cogs turn in her lovers head, uninterested in food.

"A fight, you were in a fight and your father has been avoiding you for two weeks?" That seemed... rather unwarranted and very unlike Haytham. The worst he'd witnessed was the incident with Reginald, and no matter how horrible their fight may have been, it surely did not reach that caliber.

"Well, what did the fight concern and how did you hurt him? I know it's personal but understand I've known your father for years, and the way he reacts varies depending on the slightest of circumstance." And it's not as if Haytham didn't provoke action, surely there was a reason for Connor's reaction, even if unwarranted or exaggerated. 

"And when you say he hasn't spoken to you, do you mean at all? Not a single word?" Concern weighed heavy on him, he wouldn't allow either one of them to exist in a state of misery if he could be of assistance. "Tell me what you're comfortable with, seeing how your father hasn't returned any of my calls or skyped me in some time."

-=-=-=-

“Well... no, it's mostly me avoiding him. I mean... he avoids me too but I avoid him because that is what he wants... I think.” Ugh did that even make sense explained like that?

Connor hadn't really wanted or planned to give details on what he had done exactly... the disappointment he could sense in Haytham and the others – them too, even if Leonardo, Malik and Ezio were good at hiding it – was bad enough without adding William to it as well. They were friends, but he was still Haytham's best friend first and foremost.... William was much more likely to take his father's side.

But he also didn't want to lie.

“I...” The words were there, but they seemed stuck in his throat, though they were impossible to swallow down. They had to come out. “I have... I've hurt him... physically.” There. It was out. Connor couldn't quite swallow back the whimper that followed. “I'm not trying to... to make it sound like an excuse but... but we were having an argument and it just... got way out of hand and I think... I think I had a relapse or something. Whatever you wanna call it, I don't really remember much of it actually happening. Like... like that one thing that happened at my old school, the thing that had me sent to jail for a night... like that, only t-this time... my d-dad...”

The dam broke. He had been crying an awful lot lately and it wasn't something he was proud of, but it also wasn't something he could stop. Like with many things, this too was something he just couldn't seem to get any control over.

“I t-thought I w-was o-over th... that!” He could barely get the words out between his heaving sobs, and it took Connor nearly a full minute to get his breathing under control enough to make himself audible again. “I'm sorry... I'm s-sorry William. You're probably a-angry and disappointed and you have every right to be. It's my fault, I hurt him, I broke his trust and faith in me and I want to fix it but I don't know how! He... he wrote me a note that basically said I h-have to prove he's wrong not to trust me anymore, but h-how can I do that when he hasn't given me any sign that I can make steps to get close again? He b-barely says a word to me, he won't even _look_ at me when we pass each other. He kicked me out of our bedroom the night it happened, I'm n-not even allowed near it anymore. And Altair downright _hates_ me now and s-said that I belong in the nut house and what if he's right? What if he's right and I really am a danger to everyone like he s-says I am because I clearly don't have this under control? W-what if it happens again? What if I hurt my d-dad again, or worse? O-or any of the others? I fucked up, William! I fucked up so bad and I j-just... I just...!”

His phone nearly slipped from his fingers as he buried his face into the pillow, trying to muffle his sobs. He was scared, scared that something like this would happen again, scared that Altair was right, scared that he wouldn't be able to fix this... terrified that he had ruined the relationship with his father forever.

He could take on the world... but not without his father close to him the way he had been.

-=-=-=-

A relapse? Oh dear... it wasn't quite the detail he'd deemed necessary but far be it from him to pry with Connor in the state he was. An attack then, a horrid one, and even that was lost on him, William resulting to cooing, expression softening as if Connor were present.

"Shhh, Connor, it's alright, or it will be, I promise you that." Haytham's sudden disappearance, his refusal to speak... it explained such, and yet left him with so many questions. Haytham was not the type to disappear, problems had been shared between them that far exceeded this, surely. Why the hesitancy? It was so obviously tearing them apart...

Minutes of coaxing the lad to dry his tears had Myriam curled up against him, concern genuine. When sobs reduced to sniffles he dared speak. "There's no need to apologize, you're doing the right thing, contacting me. Sometimes your father needs a slight nudge in the right direction, and as you said, I've experience doing so. Now do me a favor, and listen. Don't just hear me, _listen."_ He waited until near silence engulfed the other end.

"It was wrong of you, yes. You shouldn't assault Haytham, I'm sure you know that, so we'll leave that as it is. But you certainly aren't insane, Connor. You made a mistake, there was a lapse in judgment and it _happens._ Brazil was traumatizing, sometimes there may be small triggers, it's a part of post traumatic stress disorder, and frankly Haytham should know that." It sounded less like he'd hurt Haytham and more like he had wounded his ego from what he gathered, which meant Haytham needed to be pacified or consoled and then spoken to.

Something only he excelled at. Which could be complicated to tackle, being that Haytham would not pick up his phone, nor answer skype calls, nor respond to emails...

A look over at Myriam and he paused, playing with the loose waves around her face. "… I think I know how to fix this, and all I'm going to need is your address and a spare room for a few days, and I can be there by midday tomorrow." He just needed a little push, guidance in the right direction, and surely he would see Connor was genuinely sorry and that he was, perhaps, overreacting to what occurred. "You've my word I'll do everything in my power to make this right for the both of you."

-=-=-=-

Connor wondered if William had any idea how much his words helped already; that he was willing to listen and to help, and eased his fear about what Altair had said, and that he could _talk_ to Haytham. Of course he knew he should never have assaulted his father, but the fact that William didn't seem angry at him made him feel better than he had in days.

With William's help... perhaps he still stood a chance!

Drying his eyes on the corner of his pillow case Connor rolled onto his back again, finally a little calmer than he had been before. “We have extra rooms here, so that isn't a problem. As for our address...” Relaying it Connor breathed a silent sigh of relief. Tomorrow... William could be here tomorrow! He was probably super busy with the company and still he was making time to get to London as soon as he could. What a guy...

“Thank you, William. I really, _really_ appreciate this. Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow.” Bidding his goodbyes Connor tossed his phone on the bed and pressed his hands against his eyes; they hurt, both from exhaustion, lack of proper sleep and all the stupid crying he had been doing. Ugh, he probably looked like a zombie by now, all pale and puffy faced with dark rings under his eyes. Bleh. He should freshen up before dinner-

As if on cue, Ezio knocked on his door, something he had taken to doing every day whenever it was time for lunch and dinner, whether Connor ended up coming down for it or not. “You coming?” the Italian asked through the door and Connor hesitated for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah, I'll be down in five.” A quick trip to one of the bathrooms first to make himself somewhat presentable and then... yes, after talking to William he felt good enough to actually join the others downstairs again, even if that meant getting glared at by Altair and ignored by his father. Things were finally looking up, and no doubt Haytham would be happy to see his best friend too! He could imagine the surprise on his face when William arrived, followed by a grin and oh, it would make his dad _happy!_

And that was all Connor wanted after all. To see him happy again.

-=-=-=-

~*~

-=-=-=-

"There's alcohol in that, isn't there?"

"What, this?" Malik didn't bother to glare, Haytham looking over his orange juice. "No-"  
He swatted the hand mid pull, contents meeting the table as the drink found itself in his possession again. "Maybe a _little."_

"Mhm."

"Oh stop judging me, I'm entitled." Tender fingers met dark circles, Haythams' sigh loud. "It's been a rough fortnight."

That it had been. Altair still glared, Connor only occasionally left his room, and Haytham's behavior had turned jarringly alcoholic. They still made no attempts to speak, Malik almost tempted to intervene but it wasn't his place; they were team mates, sure, but it went beyond that. Still eyes observed the emptiness, Haytham's pants noticeably sagging, a new belt looped around him. And he had to ask, shaky fingers pouring black coffee and regrettably, Amaretto. At least he used an actual shot glass this time...

"You're both beating yourselves up. Any chance that'll decline soon?"

"Doubtful, lest he perhaps attempts some sort of apology."

"Would you forgive him if he did?"

Grey met brown, lips twitching. "To an extent, yes." he murmured, the spoon clinked against his cup. "I'd at least concede that it was an accident and may converse regularly, if it was a thorough apology." A hand cut off movement, head shaking. "He'd still need to make the attempt on his own, Malik."

So much for that plan. Wearily he sat once more, though in a stubborn way he did understand where Haytham was coming from; Connor caused him harm, so he had to fix it on his own. It did make sense... it was just...

"You know he may need a hint or nine in order to process that." Murmuring a thanks his own coffee was delivered sugared. "He's sort of ..."

"Slow?"

"You said it, but yes."

"Mhm, noted, literally." Elaborating, he sipped his own concoction, wincing before adding more coffee. "I'd sent a note saying he was to, 'win back my trust', and have thusly seen nothing." A frown and he sighed, umping the contents of coffee down the sink. His stomach was beginning to rebel at the very thought or Amaretto. "I'd really thought yesterday he would apologize when he sat himself for dinner, but no. Just ate what I made and marched back into his room. I literally told him it was alright to eat with me, to... to _see_ me, I just wanted _space."_ He scratched his neck, needlessly adjusting the collar. "Is it gone?"

"Almost, yes. Just a little yellow around the edges."

Well that was something at least. Still Haytham slumped in his chair, Malik fingering his cup before adding, softly. "Have you thought of maybe approaching him?"

"Yes, but it defeats the purpose of allowing him to figure it out on his own."

"I agree. You just seem to be suffering as much, which is lopsided." Connor did deserve some sort of 'punishment', but this was stretching it. He'd spent enough time watching him mope, and far too much time having to almost drag Haytham's drunken behind to bed. This wasn't working, maybe something else would. "Make elaborate messes and demand he clean up after you for a month, it'll make you feel better and teach him responsibility." Raised eyebrows met him and Malik shrugged. "Grasping at straws, yeah, I know, but this-" a gesture to his orange juice and he sipped his own coffee. "Is not helping anyone."

"… Unfortunately you are entirely right."

"You know he's slow at rimes, look his best friend is. I'm afraid it's contagious half the time."

He was rewarded with a chuckle, even a half smile, a sight no one had seen a long time. "… after my shower, I'll go talk to him. Maybe he is just that inept at verbal communication."

His drink was snatched away, and poured onto the floor. "Go shower."

"That was unnecessary."

"Your liver is thanking me. Go shower and talk to him."

"… I'm thirsty."

"You can drink in the _shower."_

Grey eyes narrowed, the edges of his lips twitching. "Touche. Only because I suppose your worry is genuine." The chair creaked, Haytham to tread to his own room... only after entangling his arms around a very surprised Syrian. "I wish they made you smaller, I could shove you into Connor's brain and you could attack the clammering monkey holding tamperines inside of it."

"… No more alcohol for you." That was a compliment, he assumed, if he read between the drunken, blurred lines. Haytham pattered off and the kitchen became minutely fuller, Leonardo and Cristina pulling up chairs and sitting side by side as always, chatter pleasant, the two excited about the upcoming Thor movie.

In between the bickering of what was better- magic or science in the Marvel comics- an abrupt buzz alerted them, Leonardo pressing the intercom button, intrigued.

"Hello?"

_"Morning!"_ Cheerful was the voice on the other end, a woman’s voice heard, the awe clear as she complimented the estate. _"Is Connor awake yet? I know I said mid-day, but there was an earlier flight- oh where's my manners?-it's William."_

"William?"

"You never met him, Cristi, but we had dinner the night before we left for-" The dens, and moved to Britain, because of Bali and Brazil. A blink and Leonardo turned to Malik, finger off the intercom. "Are the weapons readily visible?"

"Yes, the raid is in four weeks!" What in the hell... did Haytham do this? They couldn't not let William in though, right? "I'll... Ezio and Altair can take care of that, I have to get Haytham." What in the hell was going on? Curiously Leonardo pressed the intercom, apologizing for the delay before asking Cristina to get Connor as he opened the gate. Surely there was an explanation for this... perhaps he learned the news?

-=-=-=-

“Connor? Connor, are you awake?”

It took a few moments for the calls of his name and the sound of knocks on his door to pull him out of the half-asleep state he was in. Blinking into the pillow Connor frowned, his tired brain trying to figure out why Ezio sounded like a girl. Was it time for breakfast already? “Ugh gimme five more minutes Ez...” he muttered and pressed his face back into the pillow.

“It's me, you stupid. Cristina.”

… huh? Oh.

“Leonardo told me to get you. We have a visitor... some guy named William.”

… _what?_ Connor was awake in an instant and surged upright in bed. William? Here? _Now?_ But it was still early! “Are you serious?” he called as he tried to untangle himself from the sheets – bloody things always got stuck wrapped around him!

“Yeah, he's at the gate.”

Geez, so early! Finally managing to kick the covers off Connor jumped out of bed, running towards the door and yanking it open; Cristina quickly took a step back as she looked into Connor's face. He looked... strangely excited? “Were you... expecting him?”

“Yeah, I called him yesterday, but I didn't expect him this early.” Ah shit she didn't even know who William was, did she? “Um, he's dad's best friend but he still resides in New York because he took over the company when we moved here. I called him because I... needed some advice and he offered to come over. But don't tell dad, okay? He doesn't know. It's a surprise.” Oh shit he couldn't wait to see the look on Haytham's face! It would improve his father's mood like whoa and then... then... maybe he could finally do his thing and apologize and he'd listen and... and things would be alright again! Oh man, screw the fact he was still wearing his pajamas!

“Excuse me!” Quickly brushing passed Cristina Connor ran down the hall way, bouncing down the the stairs with two steps at the same time. William had just entered the lobby when he reached the bottom of the stairs; the grin that split his face at the sight of his father's best friend nearly hurt. “Oh man am I _glad_ you're here!” he called out as he ran towards him. He really was here, here in London, William and... and...

Skidding to a halt Connor had about a second to blink before something slammed into him and pulled him into a tight hug while loudly squealing his name. He was speechless. Absolutely rendered speechless, even as the hug tightened. He'd recognize that perfume everywhere, the pitch of her voice, the color of her hair. “M... Myriam? What...?”

She pulled back just enough to beam up at him, her made up eyes moistened slightly and oh hell she was wearing make-up why she had never done that before and actually it was kinda pretty and- “I don't... what are you doing here? Not that I'm _not_ glad to see you but...”

“Ah well... one plane ticket or two, doesn't really matter.” she said and finally allowed him some more freedom by loosening the hug. “Why are you still wearing your pajamas? Aw, you have bed hair. You're growing it out now?”

“Um... yeah.” Blushing slightly Connor quickly ran his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to get the knots out, and looked at William again. “I'm really glad you're here. Thank you so much for coming on such short notice.” Taking his hands Connor shook it firmly. “I haven't told dad you were coming. Seeing as he hasn't spoken to or seen you in a while, I figured this would be a nice surprise for him!”

-=-=-=-

Hot water, the smell of bleach... though perhaps he should begin to unfamiliarize himself with the cleanliness if Connor was to return to his bed. Probably not tonight though, but he supposed if the apology fit well enough... well, he'd take it from there. They still weren't even by any means but perhaps a solid foundation or kick start was all they needed. He was still his son after all.

He'd quite the amount of affection for him.

And admittedly, nights were unnecessarily difficult to bare. Conditioner worked through his hair in a fine lather, Loofa darting over his body rapidly, and it was halfway through the thorough scrub that he heard the knock, that bathroom door ajar.

"Showering, I'll be right there."

"It's an emergency."

Malik saying it was an emergency? A quickly as possible he rinsed, wringing out his hair before throwing a towel around himself, sopping wet as cool air met his bare chest. "What's wrong? Is someone hurt?"

"No. It looks like a friend of yours is here." Eyes locked, a dead chill rushing through him. "William."

"… _My_ William? As in, the new corporation's head, the man everyone had dinner with, William?"

"Yeah."

"Here in Britain?"

"No, here in the living room."

"What?!"

"Yeah, I know." Four weeks until the big raid... they were to leave and case the place, Russia was far smaller than the last den but still, the schematics, the weapons- everything was lying about, in easy to reach locations! How on Earth could he explain magnums, dessert eagles, sniper rifles, kevlar-

"How... how could this happen?" He had no address, he was to call him in a few days, after the final bruises faded he'd intended on this. "Is everything under lock and key?"

"I put Altair and Ezio to it, yeah. Leonardo and Connor are probably with him."

"… Alright, yes. I'll... be there momentarily." After the quickest change of clothing of his life, hair still readily damp but there was little he could do. And he took no chances, a high, grey turtle neck chosen, hair leaving droplets along shoulder blades as he stuffed himself into black slacks. Right. Act normal, and neutrally... good thing Malik had talked him into speaking with Connor, at least this would be that much less awkward! 

Heaven, if William had found out he'd have to tell him the whole story- how the fight begun, that it dealt with the raids- no, his friend needed no association with him if they were to remain unsuspected. If they were ever caught, forbid, at least William would be left safe.

Stiff chin and a surprised glance, he was not ready for the sight, months having passed since their last visit. But even more so was the surprise on the couch, in the form of a made up, exuberant woman. "Myriam?"

"Haytham! Oh my- look at your hair, it's so long!" Enveloped immediately it took a moment to react, his own arms enveloping the smaller frame, fingers threading through the wetness which was just shy of his waist. "You're as handsome as ever."

"Thank you, and it pales in comparison to you, darling." It pulled a grand smile, eyes flitting over to William, and if possibly, softening further. "I had not expected this!" Not in the _least,_ not that he wasn't thrilled to see him, simply it was a far from decent time. Regardless he accepted the brief hug, aware of Connor's lingering presence and surprisingly cheerful demeanor.

"Is this a… surprise?" Perhaps... they were here to cheer him up? And he received the address from Connor, and they were to... go about town for the day or something? Was... that it?

… It was foolish, really, the timing horrid, but still it was an effort to cheer him up. That was more then he'd done thusly, the edges of his mouth twitching. "Or is this business related and of incredible importance?"

"Well, it's certainly of incredible importance, though hardly business related.... can the three of us talk for a moment?" Clutching Myriam's hand, a kiss was placed on her knuckles. "Not to be unkind towards you dearest, this is just-"

"No need to explain, I think I can entertain myself." And there was another girl present, one in the middle of staring at Ezio, seemingly bored and uninterested in what was sure to be flirting. "I think I'll ask for a tour. Don't be to long though, I want to see London."

"Of course dear, it won't take long." Or it shouldn't, not with what Connor told him. For someone seemingly stubborn and withdrawn, Haytham seemed to be in good spirits, and he lead them toward the kitchen, sitting down at the table. 

"So what is this all about, exactly?"

-=-=-=-

Connor frowned a little, wondering why William was kissing Myriam's hand and calling her dear... but honestly, while curious, his focus was on other, much more important things. “We'll catch up later, kay?” he said to Myriam, who nodded, a glint in her eyes.

“Sure. And after you've gotten dressed, pajama boy.”

Grinning sheepishly Connor ran his fingers through his unruly hair again and watched Cristina take her away by hand, no doubt already gossiping away, like girls always did.

He followed William and his father back to the kitchen, setting out to make coffee for them all as William looked around and whistled appreciatively; while the kitchen had the most modern and luxurious kitchenware that money could buy, it still had this old and antique vibe to it. The theme was still there and it made the kitchen cozy and warm without sacrificing anything.

At least he couldn't screw up making coffee – it was one of the few things he could make without ruining it, seeing as he couldn't even make a proper cup of tea without making it too strong or too weak. Coffee though, he understood. Creamer and sugar set on the table Connor handed out mugs and leaned against the counter as he waited for the percolator to stop pruttling. William finally sat down next to Haytham after thoroughly having examined Leonardo's collection of various potted plants and the stack of magazines on the table, and Connor finally poured coffee for all of them before taking his seat next to the man – he couldn't wipe the grin and hopeful gleam in his eyes away even if he wanted to.

“I called him.” he admitted as his gaze flicked over to Haytham trying to meet his eyes. ”I had hoped he could help us with our... problem and he offered to visit. I just hadn't expected him to arrive this early. But I didn't tell you, dad, because I did want it to be a surprise for you.”

And that certainly had worked! Oh this was going to fix everything, or at least be a big step forward to fixing everything! Connor reached out for the creamer and after putting in his usual dose of sugar, he stirred, waiting for his coffee to cool down enough to be drinkable. He was finally eager to talk about this!

-=-=-=-

Help with the... problem? He'd gathered William had been contacted by him, but certainly he wouldn't be that foolish. "What problem?" No, he wouldn't. Connor would not contact _his_ best friend, behind _his_ back about a problem relating to the _illegal_ capture and murder of a _mutual_ old associate, nor would he involve William in their raids. He wasn't that... that...

"Haytham, it's alright." A hand attempted to soothe one that trembled. "Connor told me everything."

Connor told him everything. It echoed, and suddenly he could no longer breathe. "H-he did, did he?"

"Yes, and it's alright. Really." It was unbearably surreal, William frowning as his friend paled. "I think we both know Connor can overreact to stressful circumstances, and that perhaps, avoiding him wasn't the best idea."

"A-avoiding _him?"_ The twitch could not be helped. 

William's hand closed over his own, thumb rubbing what he supposed was to be soothing circles in his knuckles. "It's alright, Haytham, we all overreact sometimes. What Connor did was wrong, as was your inability to accept his apology."

"Apology?" What apology? When in... when had there been an apology? This visit... it wasn't to cheer him up, this wasn't for his _benefit._ He'd went behind his back and contacted a friend to... to what? Force him into accepting a non-existent apology?! A shuddering breath and he murmured, incredulous and breathless. "I can't fucking believe this..."

"Haytham, really it's alright." 

Grey met blue, his chest rising and falling with no discernible rhythm. "It's _alright?"_

"Of course. I'm sure Connor forgives your lack of communication, just as you forgive him for the simple assault."

His lack of communication...? No, no he'd written the lad a letter. He'd... he'd offered a means of clemency and it was responded to with _nothing._ A fortnight doing his laundry, of still providing meals, of... drinking, and waiting, and _mourning..._ and here he was, being told _he_ was forgiven and should _apologize_ for a non existent apology?

"… Did you... come here to have me... accept his apology?"

"No, no of course not. It wasn't only for that purpose." Backed into a corner the final words slammed into him, as gentle as they were spoken. "It's about mutual forgiveness and mutual acceptance, you can't ignore your son forever, nor should he feel guilty forever." Gentle eyes turned, a smile offered and he squeezed Haytham's hand a final time. "I think you're both in the wrong but it's still fixable. Just accept the apology and offer your own and move forward from here."

He'd heard Connor and others mention a point of anger, so tumultuous and thick that all else seemed non existent, except for white noise and red vision, one so blinded by rage that all else disappeared.

He couldn't recall the chair scraping the floor. Nor would he later remember William repeating his name with frantic urgency as the first glass was picked from the table and met its fate against the opposite wall.

"You stupid _motherfuckers."_ It was trembling, rage, anger, and all directed at the two men he'd adored and trusted more then anyone else. "How _dare_ you. You avoid me for two full weeks as I continuously launder _your_ clothing, cook _your_ meals, deliver them to _your_ door without so much as a thank after _everything_ you've put me through this past fortnight, and you... you go behind my _back_ and tell _MY_ best friend about _our_ fight and expect _me_ to accept a non-existent apology from you?!"

"Haytham, it... Connor didn't say that-"

"AM I FUCKING TALKING TO YOU?!" Another shattering cup, and nothing could be heard over the pounding of blood in his ears, pulse thudding ferociously. "News flash _Connor._ If I'd wanted William to know, I would have fucking told him, you dumb fuck!" 

Blinding rage subsided momentarily, voice catching as he met brown. "… You didn't explain what we fought over, did you? " It was impossible to banish the sting, teeth grit as he spoke without thought. "No, let me guess, that'll be up to me to explain. And what if we get caught, hm? Four weeks before everything is to occur, how do you _think_ this will appear, with my closest friend visiting my home stocked to the _balls_ with weapons? And not just William, what of Myriam, Connor? How will this look forbid anything happen to us?"

The hot touchdown of tears and he had no time to address William's confusion, turning to him. "And _you._ Your are supposedly _my_ friend, yet you immediately take Connor's side, haven't allowed me a moment to tell you what occurred!" 

He could no longer visibly see straight, aware of footsteps but he could not stop, his heart rapidly pounding. "A simple assault?! He had me against a wall by my _neck_ and wouldn't let _go._ I fought him off but he would not let me go!" Voice hoarse, buttons popped as the healing injury was revealed, and he hardly noticed the sobs now, nor felt wood splintering under his fist as the table cracked under his fist. "Altair had to punch my own _son_ off me because he would not let _go._ I spent weeks healing, trying to limit contact so no one would evidence what he had done and judge him improperly for it. I've cooked his meals, I wrote him correspondence, I _told_ him not to avoid me at meals, and to... to _win_ me back and what did I get? Nothing! There has been _no_ cards, no apologies, no flowers, no meals, no attempts, _nothing._ He just wallows in self pity and expects the world to _pity_ him and he receives it! I was the one who was hurt! I was the one who had my trust broken! I was the one who left trays of food by his door and asked how he was, and closed myself off for his benefit, and this is my repayment?!"

"I didn't know any of this..." William reached for him, only to have Haytham recoil. 

"Don't fucking _touch_ me. You didn't even _ask,_ you just took his side! I've been nothing but lonesome and miserable, and in c-constant pain and... and... I don't want to see either of you, you both _sicken_ me!"

He'd no idea who he he almost walked into, just that everything hurt as he fled, not into his room but outside, his name called by more than one person, tears that had been kept at bay clear for all to see. He didn't stop until he hit the back fence on the well over an acre of property, buried amongst the weeds and for a moment, he let every emotion he'd held onto empty, rage fueling him.

It was never about his comfort, it never had been with Connor, and it never would be.

-=-=-=-

How had this... gone so _wrong?_

Connor flinched as glass shattered against the wall, spraying hot coffee around the kitchen. He hadn’t meant it like this! He had... he had called William with nothing but good intentions.

He ducked lower and lower into his chair as Haytham continued to scream and yell at him, William trying to soothe the situation without much success. Every heated word, every hiss, every _curse_ spewed in his direction hit like a brick to the face, yet he couldn't brace himself against it either. Arms wrapped tightly around himself Connor lowered his head, doing nothing to try and stop Haytham. He knew there was no stopping it now.

He couldn't do anything but fuck up, could he? He had thought he was doing the right thing here, by waiting for the right moment, by giving his father space. And now, because he was a fuck-up, Haytham was angry at his best friend too, because _he_ had contacted him. William didn't deserve his rage; he had come all the way to London to _help!_ Oh god he was such a _screw up!_ Was there even a way to fix this anymore?

The silence that fell over the kitchen when Haytham finally stormed out was almost painful, and broken only by Connor's wheezy sobs as he struggled not to loose himself again. Altair, who had nearly been run over by Haytham, slowly turned his darkening gaze into the kitchen and stomped forward. “What the _hell_ did you say to him?!”

“Now now, Calm down.” Trying to at least prevent a second screaming match and keep the peace William quickly stood up with his hands raised. “There is no need to-”

“Like hell there is no need! What the fuck did you say to Haytham, you little shit?!”

Connor gave no verbal answer, managing only a tiny shake of his head. His hands shook as they gripped the edge of his seat, his knuckles turning white, and his chest heaved with every breath he took, hot tears sliding down his face. Altair cursed loudly and stormed out of the kitchen, calling Haytham's name as he took off in the direction he had gone to. Haytham had looked downright... hysterical; whatever had been said in the kitchen just now had hit hard and bad. Someone needed to be there for him and his brat of a son certainly wasn't going to be it. 

“Connor...”

Connor hunched up his shoulders even further, recoiling as if struck. Oh now he was going to hear it from William too no doubt. And really, he'd deserve it too, if he ended up being responsible for the break of their friendship.

“Did you really...” A deep sigh and Willian pinched the bridge of a nose – what a mess... “- held him up against the wall by his neck?” Please tell him Haytham was exaggerating on that because emotions ran too high, but he already had an inkling it had been the truth. That, and he had seen the fading bruises on his throat...

Connor's answer was barely more than a whisper, his voice trembling so much he was nearly impossible to understand. “I-it was a-an a-accid-dent.”

“I believe you, but did you really...?”

A nod. Good god... just what had triggered _that_ response? It was true Connor hadn't told him what the argument had been about exactly, and in all honestly, William wasn't entirely sure he even wanted to know. But if he was to help... “What did you two fight about?”

“... L... Lee...”

That took him back. Blinking William frowned. Charles? What did this have to do with Charles? “What about him?”

Even more alarming was the way Connor seemed to stiffen at that question and the boy remained silent, avoiding every attempt he made trying to lock eyes with him. Was there something he wasn't supposed to know? “Connor, I want to help you both, but I can't unless I know the full story.” Which he clearly didn't know, and now Haytham was furious at him too... but he'd cross that bridge when he got there. Perhaps he had jumped to conclusions a little too early. “What about Charles, Connor?”

The boy shook his head again. “I c-can't tell you...”

“Why not? You can trust me.”

“I know b-but... I'll j-just anger him even more if...” If he told William things that were supposed to remain secret. Like what to do with Lee. The dens. The weapons. The raids. Everything they had _done._ William could _not_ be involved for his own safety, and the same went for Myriam. It was better they didn't know. 

… fuck he was so fucking stupid! He had been _so_ relieved to hear him say he wanted to come down to London to help, he had completely forgotten that they were supposed to leave for Russia to bring down another den just four weeks from now – there had been plenty of information on the hard drives for them to come up with a solid plan in a rather short amount of time compared to the previous raids – he hadn't thought about it when he had called William.

The man was still eyeing him warily. Connor felt like he had been frozen in his seat, unable to avoid the scrutinizing gaze. Oh please _please_ don't ask any further questions, please-

“What about the weapons then, Connor?” Oh _shit!_ “Haytham had mentioned weapons. Here, in this house. Quite a lot of them. What is going on? Aside from this, aside from this fight? Why would he even _mention_ weaponry?” They were hiding something... William couldn't shake off the feeling that they were hiding something _big._

He had believed Haytham's words when he had said the reason why he wanted to move back to Queen Anne's Square was to get away from the memories lingering in New York – a break, a new beginning, a chance to finally wind down for a while. It had sounded completely logical.

And yet now Haytham had mentioned weaponry, _something_ happening in four weeks and the words 'what if anything happens to us'. And these people were here still as well. Altair and Malik, and those two from Italy. This was quickly growing alarming! What was going on?! “Connor?”

The boy was looking at him as if he had just told him he would be dead within a week, his brown eyes wide with fear. He was shaking, crying, nearly hyperventilating and William wondered just what had gotten him so freaked out. The things Haytham had said? Or the questions he was asking? Or both?

“I can't t-tell you.” Connor whispered. “Pl-please don't ask me again. I cannot tell you. I can't. We _can't_ get you involved.”

“Involved in what?!” 

“I already said too much!” Connor chair toppled over and clattered to the floor as he abruptly stood up. “I'm sorry for calling you. I really appreciate you c-came all the way out here to help, but this just made it worse. _I_ made it worse. I'm sorry, William, I'm sorry.”

William was left, bewildered and with even more questions than before, as Connor fled the kitchen. Slowly sinking back into his seat he took a deep breath and rubbed his temple, feeling a mighty headache come up.

Something was definitely up here... something _huge_ that they were all keeping a secret. Something he was clearly not supposed to know. But whatever it was, why hadn't Haytham trusted him with it? Him. His best friend since their military days. What was _so bad_ that they couldn't get him involved? Of course he had seen the news... Bali... Sydney... all those people rescued but also all those people _killed._ Surely... no, that was preposterous! Even Haytham wouldn't go that far. He was many things, but he wasn't a cold blooded murderer.

Either way, there was no way he could talk to Haytham about this before things were made up again. Not only would Connor have to seriously apologize to Haytham – and Haytham, while he definitely seemed to be the original victim in this, had some apologies to make for the harsh words said just now, even if they were said in anger - … _he_ also had some apologies to make to his best friend. It had been wrong of him to assume things and not let Haytham tell his side of the story first. He'd give Haytham a bit of time now, seeing as that Altair boy had already gone after him, and then, when Haytham came back... they would talk. Just the two of them. No matter Haytham's harsh words just now, they were _still_ best friends, and this wasn't going to change that.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long wait, we know and we apologize for that (especially with that cliffhanger). BUT! The reason I waited for this day is because... Happy first anniversary, Vindication! We started the first chapter EXACTLY one year ago! WHOO! I really don't know how many more chapters will follow before it reaches the end, we're at least over halfway there (I think) but still, we wrote a TON in this year, holy crap.
> 
> When the next chapter will be up, I honestly don't know. Whenever it's done. It may not seem like it at times, what with the long waits and all, but we have NOT forgotten about this story. There's just a lot of other stuff keeping us distracted. But enough of that. Go read! ^__^
> 
> As always, if you spot any grave errors, let me know and I'll fix them ASAP.
> 
> -Necro

Had William no prior experience with Haytham, he'd say the efforts he put into avoiding everyone was unheard of. What occurred in the garden between he and Altair was something he could but speculate, but neither returned until mid-afternoon, and even then it was to go on a long winded drive lasting well into the evening. The only saving grace had been a brief phone from Haytham to call to Malik, explaining that he was coming home and would bring dinner.

He lived up to that promise, but disappeared soon after. That was a day ago, and attempts William made to speak to him went either ignored or were answered with blaring operatic solos, Italian assaulting his eardrums. How he wasn't deaf by now...

Still there was one weapon in his arsenal of Haytham related trickery, and thankfully his recent stunt had garnered enough concern that he managed to gain permission to commit the auditory atrocity. He'd tried nice, he tried questions now it had come to this, their friendship relying on the sole act he was to commit.

"Haytham." A cons of paper, and the smell would hit any true Londoner, of that William was sure. "I come baring gifts-"

A crack in the door, and for a moment William stepped aside, a buzzing heard- was that fucking toy car?- tin and chipped, moving towards his leg, an iPad attached to the top.

An iPad bearing the image of a bifocaled Haytham with less grey hair than he remembered but such was beyond the realm of his understanding when the car knocked into his shin, tin clanking rather painfully against an old scar. "Uhm, ow?"

"Don't 'ow' me, you had it coming." 

A peak into his room and William frowned, the bed empty. Alright... "Where are you?"

"You should know by now, William, I've eyes everywhere-"

"Are those binoculars sticking out of the floorboards?"

"No."

"By your grizzly bear rug."

_"No."_

"I think they are, I think you're clamoring about in the crawl space, which will be a relief to Ezio who is certain this house is haunted."

The glint of amusement vanished quickly as William stepped around the car, shutting the door behind him. A flick of Haytham's finger and 'Con te partiro' sounded loudly, but William was woefully prepared, disarming the speakers by severing their connection to the sockets. The song played still but not nearly so loud, and now was his chance, food placed on top of the sprawling bed as he fished out his iPod and with it, his own speakers which dangled from his belt.

"Haytham, I'm giving you the chance to accept my offerings of a truce before I assault your odd- and wonderful mind, honestly how you motorized a toy well into its thirties is beyond me and I do give you credit for it- with dreadful, auditory, _horror."_ It was clear he was beneath the floor boards but William faced the iPad regardless, illumination from whatever device he was currently operating showcasing narrowed eyes.

"Do your worst, traitor."

Traitor, eh? The volume was soon enough cranked to the max, William shaking his head in mock woe. "You brought this upon yourself."

At first, nothing, just the distant sound of techno. But then...

_There ain't a reason you and me should be alone_

_Tonight yeah baby, tonight yeah baby_

_I got a reason for you to take me home tonight_

He couldn't miss the eye twitch, a horrified expression morphing over features, and Haytham spoke in a free moment, rushed. "I call p.o.w. foul play! This is inhumane cruelty to my delicate eardrums."

"You know I felt the same at first but it's soooo catchy." No it wasn't. Not even a little. But he could pretend, doing his best to show case his inability to dance, the fact that he was forty five and _clearly_ Caucasian aiding him slightly. "I think I get it, ya know. It's so... new age!"

New age?!No, no. Hands covered ears, Haytham muttering into his mic, abashed. "It's eighties Madonna and nineties techno _together,_ how is this new or inventive?" He paused, somewhat concerned. "Are you suffering from a fit or something- oh god no, please tell me that's not you dancing, you are so Irish it _burns."_

Just for that William added in what had to be the most awkward pelvic thrust ever, Haytham seeming to freeze in place.

_I need a man that thinks it's right when it's so wrong_

_tonight yeah baby, tonight yeah baby_

_Right on the limits where we know we both belong tonight_

"William, stop. Please stop. This is worse than the image of Pictcairn's face being pasted onto Church's body and being forced to pleasure ones self." 

The image hit William and he guffawed, mouth partially open. "Why would you even bring that up? I'd forgotten all about that stupid meme Thomas made-"

"Forgot?! It was the stuff of nightmares, as is this!"

"You know how to make it stop, Haytham!"

"But I don't like you right now, I'm still angry at both of you. More so Connor, but you too, traitor man."

"I hope you know there's perfectly fresh Haddock and chips being sullied as I dance-"

"Wait, haddock?!" The boards visibly shifted underneath the rug, a head poking beneath as he sniffed the air. An Englishman, Scotsman, nor Irishman would _ever_ lie about Haddock...

"Deep fried, skin on, with zesty tartar drizzle and salted chips on the bottom of the cone... tell me it's from Plaice. William, you tell me it's from Rock and-"

"Sole?" The cone was heaping, and… "Is that second one _also_ mine?"

"That's right, I got you two and no, I didn't get me any, so you could watch me adequately suffer as you feast on the finest fish and chips in all of London."

"… And you'll sit with me and shut off the forsaken music of the damned?"

"If you listen to my apology and can try and see reason, then yes."

A moment of thought and the iPad seemed to power down, William frowning before the floor boards moved, half of Haytham's body appearing from a sizable crawl space beneath the floor, although he was obviously smooshed, the grizzly rug partially in his way. "… want to eat in the crawl space?"

"Depends, are there spiders?"

"Not on this end, and Socks and Paws are fairly good about taking care of them, and it's insulated with iPod pillows."

"IPod pillows?" Moving aside Haytham left him enough room, William barely able to sit up straight but indeed, the space was larger then expected, and far warmer. "Mhm. Speakers are in the arm rests and you put your iPod in the holder here."

"I see, clever." That explained part of the speakers blaring music, a few strips of wiring could be seen leaning up from the floor boards and upwards, as could his miniature control room, consisting of some rather old looking toys and an assortment of tools. "Have you been getting around the house via the crawl space?"

"Mhm. I used to as a child, up until the mid forties crawl spaces were literally that- a space to crawl between, large enough for pests and people alike."

"How clever." And utterly antisocial but he'd let that slide, handing Haytham his first cone, watching genuine excitement light up the seemingly tired face. Dark circles did nothing to take away from it, what was likely the first smile in days reaching lips as he took a chunk of fish into his mouth and chewed, eyes shutting blissfully.

William allowed him the few moments of pleasure, content on watching his friend silently, admiring the odd assortment of tinkering he'd been doing to occupy his time. It made sense, he'd always thrust himself into work when he was upset, and with no corporation he'd been tinkering around. Hence the remote control tin car...

"I'm still mad at you." 

William almost smiled. "I know Haytham."

"I'd be more inclined to express myself but I'm very famished and this is exceptionally astounding."

"It smells astounding." Truly it did, but William would live out his own punishment as promised, and offer a little something in the meantime. "I am sorry, for not speaking to you before hand, Haytham. Connor had called in what was hysterics, and I'd only wanted to aid you both. I know how he can be, and I know how you can be, and no I'm not being insulting, Haytham, I just know you, and you handle emotion differently then he does. Can you concede to that?"

"… yes, I can." 

Even if it was forced, it was something, William leaning his head on Haytham's shoulder, ignoring his growling stomach. "You'll tell me what happened, please? I want to hear it from you, really I do."

There was a sigh for a moment, Haytham fidgeting with his cone, and visibly searching, William removing himself and fetching one of the two cups he brought back, watching Haytham sip before narrowing his eyes.

"You don't need diet coke, you could gain a few pounds, Haytham."

"… are you declaring me thin?"

"Yes."

Lips twitched, upward for a change. "I'm beginning to like you again."

"I also like your hair. And your glasses."

"Now you're just being a kiss ass..."

"Is it working?"

And there it was, ear to ear, William leaning against his shoulder. "… maybe."

"Good. Now, inform me thusly."

And he did, to an extent, William noting the _reason_ for their argument woefully void and wincing at the finer details. The letter, the disappointment, the bruising around his neck and the lingering fact that he was _punched_ free and subjected to the onslaught with others present. He saw it now, why he was so upset, and the news of Connor's admittance to loving him days prior... it was was kick to Haytham's gut, the man polishing off the first cone and demanding they retire to his bed, just to chat.

William said nothing as the head lowered to his lap, fingers petting newly dyed hair. "I mean sure, yes, I miss him, of course I do. But I can't tell him to apologize and formulate all his responses for him. He needs to take responsibility, this is what's more upsetting than the act itself, all the excuses bubbling around him, that he went to you instead of me. I mean, hello Connor! I'm hurting too, and _you_ hurt _me,_ shouldn't I be entitled to some merriment or nicety?"

"Indeed you are, Haytham." 

He fingered another chip, before removing a large piece of Haddock, eyes on William face before he held one piece out, an inch from his face. "… for me?"

"… yes."

"Is this an apology for the tin car?"

"No... this was for calling you a stupid motherfucker and throwing away your coffee."

"Aw." William accepted the large piece, nails soothing against his scalp. "Forgiven."

"I hate emotions, I commit foolish acts because of them." The second drink was fetched, and pressed into William's hand, Haytham changing his spot to William's shoulder. "That's for your shin."

"You're cute."

"I know. It's something I must live with everyday."

"You cad." It was good, to hear Haytham joking around like this. He seemed settled, and it was together that they finished off the second cone, William still ever aware that he'd more questions. "So... what would it take for you to answer a few questions I have?"

"An army with loaded guns pointed straight at my face."

"It can't be that bad." He met grey eyes with a half grin, one which faded rapidly at the look he received behind black frames. "… I'm really hoping this isn't what I suspect."

"Can I get a rain check on this conversation and save it for morning?"

"I'd prefer if you didn't."

"And I'd prefer naturally brown hair and twenty-twenty vision forever, but we can't always get what we want."

A sigh and William watched him grab a blanket at the end of the bed, before covering them both up, head assuming a spot on his chest this time. In all fairness he did look down right exhausted... "First thing in the morning, Haytham."

"Promise."

"Don't make me come find you again."

"I shan't."

"I wish you'd tell me now, just get it over with."

"I wish you liked men, you'd have made my life so much easier." Blue eyes cracked open, a smirk on Haytham's lips though is eyes remained shut. "See, the truth is sometimes better left unsaid."

"… well played, you fop. Go to sleep, I'll bugger you in the morning."

"… will you now?"

"Not like _that."_

"Myriam will be so disappointed at your refusal."

Well, he'd his friend back. His bossy, gay, intelligent and ever so odd friend. His grip tightened around him regardless. He'd kill for the man. "Good night, Haytham."

He was already asleep.

-=-=-=-

No... no... no... Frustrated and irritated Connor crumpled up set another sheet of paper and tossed it over his shoulder where it joined the dozen or so other failed attempts at putting down into words what he wanted to say to his father. He had been hiding in the guest room since their confrontation in the kitchen yesterday and hadn't come out since except to relieve himself as quickly as he could. Other than that the door remained locked and each and every attempt from the others to communicate with him had gone ignored. Bad, he knew, and not fair to them at all but he didn't feel ready to talk to them yet. He needed to focus on _this,_ his apology first.

His very long overdue apology.

It was clear he had completely misinterpreted Haytham's little note. Clearly his father had been waiting for him to make a move ever since he had written it and Connor had done nothing. If he was going to fix whatever could still be fixed, he would have to do it soon... before the damage became irreparable. 

Sighing Connor rubbed his tired eyes and yawned; they hurt with how long he had been staring at his handwriting, but he had to finish this before he could even attempt sleep. Before it was too late.

_Knock knock._ “Connor?”

Teeth grit Connor put his pen to paper again, trying to ignore Myriam's voice. This wasn't the first time she had come knocking, but he had _work_ to do!

“Connor, I am not even kidding anymore. Open the damn door, this is getting ridiculous. I want to talk to you! I will break the door down if I have to!”

… and he knew she would. Grumbling Connor stood up and reached for the oversized iron key stuck in the key hole and turned it – the door opened immediately, Myriam forcing herself inside and Connor stepped back, turning to his desk again. 

“Finally! Would it kill you to- why are you still wearing your pajamas?”

“I didn't feel like getting dressed.”

Huh... she pushed the door closed with a soft click and frowned. “Please tell me you did feel like showering this morning?” she asked, eying his unruly, messy hair – it looked even messier than it had yesterday morning. The lack of answer told her everything she needed to know. Oh for crying out loud... Snapping her fingers she pointed at the bed. “Sit down.”

“But I have to finish this letter-”

_“Sit.”_

Connor's expression turned to that of a sour-kicked-puppy, but he obediently dragged his feet to the bed and sat down with a grunt. Myriam grabbed the comb from his desk and settled next to him, attacking his hair with it to work out the many knots and tangles.

“Ow ow ow ow ow ow pulling!”

“Don't be a wimp.” Still she tried to be gentler and for a few minutes the room was silent. Then: “So, yesterday wasn't a success, was it?”

“No...”

“Hm... well, you'll be pleased to learn that there haven't been any sounds of gruesome murder coming from your father's bedroom so it's safe to say he and William made up.”

“Lucky them.” He was glad though... at least he hadn't fucked up their friendship too.

“William told me everything. It was a horrible thing you did but I won't berate you for it... I do believe you when you said it was an accident and I think these last few weeks have been punishment enough. So, what are you going to do about it now?”

Connor's lips pressed into a thin line and he gestured to the many crumbled up papers littering the floor. “Trying to finish my apology, something I should have done ages ago, but-”

“But you misread Haytham's signs. William told me. You two really need to work on your communication skills because quite frankly... they suck.”

That pulled a soft chuckle from him, before it suddenly changed into a hiss and a wince when the comb got stuck in a particularly stubborn knot. “Ow ow ow!”

“Sorry... damn thing.” Silence fell over them once again as Myriam focused her attention on his hair, and Connor tried to keep from going bald. “You're growing it out again, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Shame, I liked the mohawk.”

Yeah well, he had liked it too, but it was no longer appropriate or necessary for him to have the mohawk. That, and he missed his old hairstyle. “Hey... Myriam? A question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did William call you 'dear'? And, like, kissed your hand and everything?” Weird!

“Haha, you're funny when you play dumb.”

“... I was actually asking you a legitimate question, so thank you for calling me dumb, geez.” Like he hadn't heard that a thousand times before, goddammit. He wasn't that stupid! A bit slow perhaps, but nothing worse than that!

Myriam blinked slowly and leaned sideways to catch Connor's eyes. Really? “You mean you don't know?”

“Would I ask if I did?” he pouted.

“Well... no, but I really thought you already knew. Your dad does.” 

She put the comb away and Connor narrowed his eyes, reaching for the water bottle standing on the small table next to the bed... _of course_ his father already knew. “Well he never told me, whatever it is. So why did he call you that?” he asked and put the mouth of the bottle to his lips.

“William and I are in a relationship.”

And the water went down the wrong way. Coughing and hacking Connor almost dropped the battle as he lurched forward, spitting a mouthful of water on the floor. _“Wh-what?!”_

“You sound so surprised.”

“But he's... he's _old!”_

That earned him a raise of a well trimmed eyebrow and Myriam smirked. “Oh come now, Connor! He's only ten years older than your dad and at least we aren't related by blood!”

“... point taken.”

“Good.”

“How... how long?”

“Well let me think... it turned official shortly after you guys moved to London, but it had been... growing for a while.”

Connor blinked. Now that she mentioned it... he remembered when they came home from Italy, they had found William in their apartment because Haytham had asked him to look after Socks and Paws, but Myriam had been there as well. Back then, he hadn't really questioned it, but now...

“It's not a problem to you, is it?” she asked and he quickly shook his head, screwing the cap back onto the bottle.

“No! No, absolutely no problem. Seeing as I'm happily screwing my own father I don't think I'm in any position to complain anyway.” Besides... William was a great guy, and Myriam a great girl, so... yeah, no problem there. “Soooooo...” Ugh how he hated awkward silences. “How _is_ he?”

“Kinky.” It was said without any blushing or stuttering, but _with_ a smirk and Connor reeled back, his own face reddening like a stop sign.

“Too much information!”

“You asked.”

“That was a joke!”

“Really? Could have fooled me.”

Groaning he dragged a hand down his face... ugh, right, how could he have forgotten Myriam could be so... _blunt_ at times? She lightly punched him in the shoulder, clearly amused at his own discomfort at having been told William could be quite the pleasant beast in bed, and snickered. 

“C'mon you. Go take a shower and get dressed, properly.”

“But I have to finish my letter.”

“I know, but Connor, you need to eat.” She eyed the various candy wrappers and junk food bags littering the room, clearly things Connor had stashed here to 'survive' on, and tsked. “Properly. I know my way around your kitchen, so go get showered and dressed and I'll make you something, okay? And then you can finish your letter and get some sleep. You look like you're about to fall over dead.”

Well... she had a good point. A small smile tugged at his lips and he nodded. “Thank you, Myriam.” he said softly as she stood up and made her way to the door.

“You're welcome, Connor. Things will look up soon, I promise.” With that she left and Connor sighed, got up and pulled some random but clean clothes out of the closet. He desperately hoped she was right.

-=-=-=-

Every hair in place, showered, primped and at the ready. William was working on breakfast for the four of them, to be had in Haytham's room so they could speak in private about... well.

Bali. Brazil. Sydney. And soon to be Russia. 

He was to explain to his best friend why he'd become a vigilante serial murder and silently cross his fingers and hope that he would not completely hate him for what was a decision that had caused him to give up his company and a portion of his life.

Alcohol, where art thou when needed most? But no, he'd promised a sober delivery, the hem of his red sweater vest fiddled with, white collared shirt starched and crisp. Fine, he would explain everything and accept fate, sure.

But Connor was going down _with him._ It was all his fault...

It wasn't the time for such thought. Connor had erred and now they would fix it and hope for the best. There was a fair chance Connor would be his only friend after this, save for the other housemates, but when they'd left and long forgotten of him, it would be Connor and himself, once again. Possibly his only friend.

He couldn't remain angry forever.

The crippling anxiety had worn him down, sharp edges blurring as he adjusted his new glasses, wishing his contacts would arrive already; he was certainly internally what would be considered 'nerdy,' he didn't need the outer shell to look the part! That and he hadn't seen Connor in a few days.

And his hair was significantly more brown and he wore glasses. It wasn't that he was concerned about physical appearances per say but...  
 _Just knock on his door, Haytham._ Yes, yes he was stalling. The knocking hand soon joined the second behind his back, Haytham's throat clearing itself. "Connor, I've something trying to deal with. A moment of your time is a necessity, and your cooperation is of invaluable importance."

-=-=-=-

There was no immediate answer, other than a lot of shuffling and the sound of fabric shifting, before footsteps made their way towards the door. It creaked open, the sliver just enough for one tired brown eye to peek through. It stared. Then blinked. And blinked again.

Brown hair and glasses?!

“You dyed your hair.” It wasn't stated as a question and Connor squeezed his eyes shut, mentally slapping himself. Good job stating the obvious, genius! Of course it was dyed! And it looked suspiciously similar to his hair color on the old photos, before he started greying.

It was quite... nice actually. The glasses would take some more time getting used to, but they too fit the whole picture – even though it made him look slightly nerdy, but Connor knew better than to say that out loud, especially now. “Looks nice.” The words came out slightly slurred, though he blamed that on not being quite awake yet and Connor turned away slightly to yawn, feeling his jaw pop with a wince. Ouch.

_Wake up dammit!_ Haytham was talking to him, as in _talking_ to him. No yelling, no screaming, no cursing and no name calling. Just talking. Shit, what was the question again? “Uh... yeah, I'll be... gimme five minutes?” Four minutes to wake up and one to get dressed. Ugh it was _too_ early.

Receiving a confirming nod he watched his father walk back downstairs and he closed the door. Well, he hadn't expected _that._ What was so important that Haytham had actually come to this room to _ask_ him to come down? Ugh, not more bad news, he hoped?

Connor dressed quickly and made a quick detour to the bathroom he had taken on using to splash water in his face and brush his teeth because ugh, morning breath. At least he was awake now. Somewhat.

He found Haytham, William and Myriam in the kitchen. No sign of Altair, who he knew had taken to following Haytham like a puppy whenever he wasn't with Cristina, and good riddance too. He was so _done_ with Altair's constant not-so-very-subtle glares of doom.

William and Haytham were both standing at the stove, the peculator making an unholy noise next to them, and the smell of eggs and bacon made his stomach grumble loudly. Myriam looked up from The Times, already primped up with make-up and everything – he _still_ hadn't gotten used to that.

“Good morning!” she said cheerfully and Connor raised his hand in a wave before he flopped down in a chair.

“Mornin'...”

“Sleep well?”

“No.” Pressing his palms to his eyes he muffled another yawn and glanced at his father's back, the early morning rays of the sun hitting the brown of his hair in such a way it nearly seemed to glow a golden hue. It was really a pretty color that fit him. What was this about though? He didn't quite dare to ask... everything he had said to his father since 'it' had happened had seemed to push all the wrong buttons.

-=-=-=-

Had he truly awakened the lad? So it seemed, if the groggy voice and bed head was any indicator. Borderline feverish with heat undoubtedly, it was a custom to seek him in the earlier hours, particularly as seasons changed.   
He'd always been a furnace, though Haytham was arguably better at heat retention, the lad was his own personal space heater. Often had legs entangled in the wee hours, Haytham awake but unwilling to leave the comfort of their shared bed.

He relished in the loss for a brief moment, foundation covering what were circles. Even the sole night with William was of no comparison. A pang of longing but he could dwell no further, the edges of his mouth forcibly twitching upward at the compliment. "Thank you." 

However slight as it had been, it was a start, William practically humming. Bleh, morning person. He turned to the fairer of company, absorbed in an article before. It was likely this is the last he would see of them, so care free around him after the news was shared.

"Oh!" Sudden was the expression of affection, though returned as she set her paper aside, hands covering Haytham's as arms squeezed. "Are you alright, Haytham?" 

"No."

William said nothing, ear inclined to hear the conversation and mouth moved to silence as Myriam asked. "What's the matter?"

"I hate goodbyes, and adore you both."

That's all it was, a single sentence before he retreated, leaving two sets of eyes blinking, William clearing his throat as Connor entered, Haytham's back to both of them. Another year. Another loss. The only difference was the lack of tombstone, but still they'd be untouchable, unreachable, and he to blame more so then prior.

"For you, dear. And you, lad." Coffee for both, grey eyes studying in fine detail her face before doing the same to William, ingraining their final looks of adoration he'd managed to garner.

They'd be his last.

"Connor, William wishes to know what began our little tiff, rather the conversation that lead to such." Charles, hunting for him, discussion of raids and dens... it was almost a silly blur now, something he could easily recall yet desperately wanted kept secret. 

"While I am prepared to face the consequences for my decisions I'd appreciate a level of support while I commit myself to barring the truth." Desperate for comfort were hands that almost grabbed Connor's, but instead fell limply into his own lap. Soft was Myriam's voice, and he could almost picture the kindness there.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad, Haytham." 

William made no remark, eying the almost sardonic grin his friend supported before closing his eyes. "It is my understanding that Charles was the center of this argument." He looked between the pair, inquisitive patience lacing every motion. "Connor, what exactly about Charles were you two arguing about?"

-=-=-=-

Oh god.

He hadn't expected _this._ He had thought they would talk about the fight – that seemed like the logical thing to do. And instead they were to discuss what had lead up to the fight? Oh he didn't like this at all... this went against everything! They were not supposed to get anyone involved, so what had changed? Haytham's desire to be honest to his best friend? William was a great guy and fully capable of being understanding, but would he understand this? Hell, would he even accept it? Unlikely... this could tear them apart even worse.

They were waiting for his answer and Connor wondered why he had to be the one to give it – was this too part of his punishment? Getting him to fess up? A quick glace at Haytham and Connor caught the tiny nod; though the man wouldn't meet his eyes it said enough; _tell them._

Taking a deep breath Connor laced his fingers together and rested them on the table, keeping his eyes on his hands in favor of looking at Myriam and William... he didn't want to see the shock, the _disappointment_ in their eyes. “We were talking about... what to do with Lee when we finally track him down.” he began, keeping his voice soft. “Dad wants to see him put away for life, to see him suffer in prison forever. I disagreed because... I don't think he deserves to live. I want to see him dead and... I prefer to be the one to do it.”

There. He had said it, and the silence that fell over the room was so thick and heavy he felt like he could choke on it. He did not look up when Myriam's small hand appeared in his vision and closed over his own, squeezing gently. “Connor... I understand you want revenge, but killing isn't the answer.”

“It is.” he muttered and pulled his hands out of her reach; while invisible he already had so much blood on his hands, something he had never really bothered to think about but now, confronted by someone who was supposed to stay out of it for her own safety, it hit him in the face. Hard.

“What do you mean; it is?” That was William, and Connor looked up just long enough to briefly catch blue eyes, filled with worry and confusion... and perhaps a bit of apprehension.

“Someone has to do it. And the government won't.”

“You're talking about Bali and Sydney?”

Connor nodded. How long would it take them to realize what he meant? He pressed himself further into a chair, wishing he could be anywhere but here because... because they were his friends and he had already lost so many people, he didn't want to lose them too for something he believed in!

“Wait...” William muttered and Connor braced himself. “Wait a minute, you aren't saying-?” No. No! Haytham had mentioned weapons but surely... no! _“You guys?!_ Is _that_ what you've been doing?!”

Connor only managed a tiny nod, keeping his eyes firmly averted.

“This had better be one giant sick joke! You can't be serious!”

No... no it wasn't. “Someone has to do it.” Connor muttered again, and he could almost feel William's eyes burn into him. Without even realizing it he scooted closer to his father. He didn't want to deal with this and William's rage, Myriam's disappointment... not on top of all the disappointment and anger already weighing down on him.

-=-=-=-

He'd remained respectfully silent until no longer allowable, or at least deemed thusly as William glared daggers and Myriam's eyes widened, practically saucer sized. "Someone had to do it? What kind of logic is that? " Was he serious? This was to be left to authorities, not the likes of them! "What gives you to a right to take lives in a pseudo-vigilante justice?"

"The same right that allows one such as them to take my son and broadcast the results." Without a hitch his voice remained level, eyes entirely focused on the growing rage William exuded. Had they thought he would move away from Connor, they were mistaken, straight posture and broad shoulders kept place, arm listing to allow Connor an opportunity to meld against him should need be. "The very same that allowed young men in the thousands to be caged as dogs and displayed as nothing more than means to gamble for the amusement of the wealthy." 

The same right that allowed the death of Kadar, the loss of Ezio's family, the prostitution and imprisonment for Cristina. Of course he words meant little, William shaking his head, rage carefully peeling away the very careful, kind structure that usually engulfed his demeanor. "That isn't justification, _Haytham._ This is an international process that was recognized and is gaining traction-"

"Only because I made it known-"

"You're really going to allow your own hubris to blind you?"

Grey eyes narrowed, but it was all that chipped of his mask, grip on Connor's side bordering on what maybe uncomfortably tight. "I speak the _truth._ I sent a SWAT team to find my son, weeks of searching and well upwards into hundreds of thousands to get him _back_ and what else have you heard about the dens, William? _Nothing._ Have you heard from Silas, or have his whereabouts been mentioned? _No._ This whole catastrophic mess is being swept under a rug for the sake of convenience and I will _not_ let what happened to my son, nor those trusted people I've acquired along the way, occur to anyone else while I walk this planet." Chin held high in what William deemed as pompous negligence, Haytham ground out, softly. "We've freed far more than we harmed."

"And you're going to be _caught_ and imprisoned for your madness if not downright executed, as will your followers!" A fist pound against the table and Myriam jumped; she'd never seen William _angry,_ let alone this angry, face flushing and words venomous hisses. "What will you do if you're caught? You're a mass murderer-"

"Actually I'm a serial murderer. Mass murder is one large murderous spree, and with Bali and Sydney under my belt and Russia in a few weeks-"

"Is this a funny game to you?!" It was a silent hiss, knuckles white around wood. "Serialist or mass murderer, you are _not_ going to do this again. This ends here."

"You think so, William?" Defiance dripped from every word as he manually counted on his fingers. "You've no proof, you can't stay here with a company to run, Myriam has classes resuming shortly, and you'd have to literally chop my head from my cold, dead corpse to prevent me from doing what we need do."

"What about Ziio?" Eyes shut at her name, Myriam turning to William and shaking her head. "William, don't-"

"No, I'm going to. What do you think she'd say, you bringing her only _son_ into a gun infested den, surrounded by murderers? You're gambling with the life of your _child,_ Haytham, that's how you want to honor her memory?"

It was silent for a moment, Haytham leaning back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling. "I'm not doing this for her." It was raw but soft, even as the edges cracked and resolve began to fray, a drop of emotion in his voice. "Would I like her positive feedback? _Absolutely._ But I won't weep and wonder, that is a hypothetical and I waste no tears on what would have been when I have tangible reality. I've given up everything to see our vision become true." Eyes lowered, still. He could hear the gunshot, his name called as he was pushed away. The smell of wet grass on a hunting trip, the bears in Russia and the calls of quail in Italy and Greece.

His grip transferred to Connor's shoulder, squeezing. "I fight for what matters most, and will do so until breath no longer leaves me."

-=-=-=-

“I do not approve of this, Haytham. I can't.”

No... no, Connor hadn't expected that William would. Reaching up he gripped his father's hand and leaned further into him but as he looked at William, his eyes shone with determination. “Neither of us expected you to, but unless you're willing to call the police on us, we're not stopping. This is _my_ choice as well, I _wanted_ to do this and I still do. No one talked me into it, it was my decision.”

Meeting William's angry gaze was easier than looking into Myriam's tear filled eyes, but he did so anyway, mentally wincing at the fear, confusion and anguish written on her features. “But... _why?”_ She whispered. “W-why would you-”

There was only one answer he could give. “Because no one else will. And you know that to be true, William.” he added before the man could open his mouth. “After Brazil the government pinned the blame on two lesser men. Don't tell me you don't remember because it was on the news and I was there when you called my dad about it. The government never intended to do more, they simply compensated the survivors and left it at that. You tell me where the justice in that is.”

Sitting up straight Connor tapped his fingers on the wooden table. “Malik and Altair. They are helping us because they want to help prevent more deaths like Kadar. Ezio had half his family murdered by them; we know because we confiscated a laptop in Bali and found photos that proved it. Cristina, she had been kidnapped by the son of the Sydney den leader and forced to work as a prostitute for years! Them, and all those enslaved people we set free it is like my dad says; we save more lives than we take! And I _am_ being realistic, I know that one day this will probably come back to bite us in the worst way possible, but at least I know that we did the right thing. Because if we don't do it, who will?”

“You still can't justify murder, Connor.” William hissed back; he was still visibly angry but at least he had calmed down enough to not yell at them anymore. Wrapping an arm around Myriam's shoulders he pulled her close and shook his head. “You can't. You can pretty it up with talk about saving lives and doing it because no one else will, but the fact remains: murder is murder.”

“I _know_ that! Of course I know that! I have blood on my hands and I'm well aware of it. Do you remember Cutter, William?”

The uncomfortable expression that slipped over William's face said enough; he remembered. Good.

“We tracked him and Silas to Bali. Silas escaped, but Cutter... I got to him. I _killed_ him and I don't regret it for one bit, so don't you _dare_ tell me that what I did was wrong. It wasn't.”

William stayed silent at that, fortunately, though he was still eying him with that angry glare. No matter how much William disliked or even hated what they were doing, Connor knew that in the end they were doing the right thing, even if it turned them into scapegoats. They didn't need William's approval and permission, and Connor was pretty sure he wouldn't rat out his best friend to the authorities.

Still... he would have liked it if William would at least try to understand why they were doing this. 

“And what about the weapons you mentioned?” William muttered after a few awkward, long moments of silence and turned his gaze on Haytham again. “Reports state the people who infiltrated Bali and Sydney were well armed and well organized, professionals even. So what, hm? Illegal weaponry? Is that it?”

Connor risked a quick glance at his father as well. All their weapons were stashed in the basement where they trained, along with all of Leonardo's inventions, their suits and all the confiscated drives and laptops taken from the dens. Should they... show William? Or would that only serve to make things even worse? He wouldn't decide, it wasn't his place and he definitely didn't want to make things even worse. Again. 

-=-=-=-

Unpreventable was the twitch of his own eyebrow, irritation at William's utter lack of understanding getting the better of him. "No, I managed to acquire desert eagles and a sniper rifle _legally."_ Now he was just asking to be irritated, Haytham unaccustomed to the anger directed his way from William but all too ready to direct it back, arms crossing over his chest, freeing themselves from Connor. "Don't ask questions you know the answer to."

Silence loomed, thick, and their eyes never parted from one another. "So now you're an illegal arms trader? That's just fantastic Haytham. Regardless of what's happened you know this is not the answer. You're asking for the death sentence when you get caught, and you will get caught-"

A shuddering breath and eyes broke, Myriam burying her face into her hands, shoulders shaking. The gentle touches were not lost on Haytham, William doing his best to silently comfort her, and his own tone softened. _"If_ we were to get caught, it is nothing we haven't prepared for and spoken of time and time again." It was more towards Myriam, though he made no move to reach out, his voice remained calmer, lighter. "But there is no guarantee we will."

Fingers grasped a broad shoulder, and for a moment he reveled,having gone so long without the warmth of another beneath his finger tips. "As Connor said, this is for the fallen who would otherwise live out their lives without closure, and for the victims that did not deserve to be so. Kadar, Cristina, Ziio... they were direct victims, but the family that remained after their departure are no less victims. We fight for ourselves and for those who cannot, to give the deaths a place, closure, and to salvage what we can." Knuckles whitened, Haytham moving to stand, using Connor for support. "It's all I've to say."

"That's a romanticized view you're portraying."

He paused but for a moment, unable to meet William's eyes. "Imagine it was her then. Imagine someone in your life took Myriam away, and murdered her. Now, imagine, they pinned it on someone else after months of grieving." Already in the doorway he paused just to murmur the final words. "The day you tell me you'd let something of that caliber happen is the day I call you a _fucking_ liar."

"… I wouldn't, not like this." Eyes bore into each others, William's nodding his head. "I couldn't do something like this, it's not what anyone would have wanted."

Right, because William knew that for certain. Thoughts remained hidden, Haytham bowing his head. "Impasse it is. And I believe I needn't show you the way out."

-=-=-=-

Whoa wait wait wait, don't leave him alone in the kitch- too late. _Dammit dad!_ Horribly aware of Myriam's silent sobbing and William's stares Connor slowly stood up as well, keeping his own eyes firmly away from them. He wanted to comfort Myriam but... it was more than likely she wouldn't want him near her and William was much better suited for the job anyway. “Well... I'll leave you to it, to... think it over I guess.” he muttered and quickly made himself scarce before anything else could be said. What else was he to say anyway? He'd said enough.

It was still early; he could go back to the guestroom and sleep some more, but he doubted sleep would come to him now. No, best he finally finish his long overdue apology and get his father to like him again, because it was beginning to seem like he had just lost two more friends.

Geez this was depressing.

Someone cleared his throat and Connor looked up, spotting Leonardo in the doorway of the living room. “Hard talk?” he asked, and for a moment Connor wondered how it was that Leonardo always seemed to know exactly what was going on, how it was that he understood everyone so well. Dropping his arms down his sides he nodded and walked closer, further away from the kitchen and shrugged.

“William knows now. Myriam too.”

“Ah...” Leonardo's face betrayed nothing as he peeked over Connor shoulder, staring at the door leading into the kitchen with his bright blue eyes. “I was gonna get coffee but I heard you guys talk. I figured it would be best not to disturb. How did they take it?”

“As 'well' as expected.” Connor muttered darkly. “Myriam is upset and William is disgusted with what we're doing. We tried to explain but I don't think he gets it.”

“It's a lot to take in.”

Aye, that it was. Perhaps after some time, allowing it to sink it, William would understand. Fidgeting Connor glanced at the blond Italian; truth be told, everyone had a solid reason to join he and his father on their den raids, all because of family, but Leonardo hadn't lost any family to these people, right? He wasn't related to Ezio. For Malik, Altair and Ezio it was all a part of revenge, but what about Leonardo, who had made it so very clear he thought what they were doing as wrong as well when they had first met? “Do you regret this?” he asked and Leonardo blinked at him, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“Pardon?”

“I mean... do you regret getting involved? You know what will happen if we get caught, there will be no mercy for us either.”

“I know that. And you know that I severely dislike pointless violence, Connor. I hate it. But what I hate even more is the injustice, of what happened to Ezio's family, to Altair and Malik and his younger brother, and to you, your father and your mother. And the injustice the people still trapped inside still face every day. I hate the killing and the violence, but I hate standing aside and doing nothing even more. I do what I can to help because I believe that we're doing the right thing and ultimately, I hope that people will see that. So no, I don't regret it.”

Oh good. _Good,_ that was a relief. They wouldn't have gotten as far as they did without the help of Leonardo and his brilliant inventions. The raids were extremely dangerous and difficult, but thanks to Leonardo, they were a bit safer and easier.

“I think they're gone.” Leonardo muttered, having walked over to the kitchen door, listening. “To the garden, perhaps. Coffee?”

Connor nodded eagerly - yes he'd love coffee right about now, and as he pushed away from the wall and followed Leonardo into the kitchen, it was with a new found dose of respect for the blond engineer.

-=-=-=-

Immersion into the cathartic, that's what he needed. The door shut with a click, Haytham glad all luggage had been brought to the kitchen prior. Indentation of wheels left their mark, rug furrowed, Haytham ignoring it to lay upon his bed, hitting the pillows head first.

He could still smell Givenchy. A noise left him, fingers tenderly caressing the pillow. It was cold, yet still a touch of scent lingered, cool thread caressing his face just for a moment before he buckled.

Sheets and pillow cases were thrown into the wash but moments later, a long exhale leaving him before he padded to the kitchen, shuffling through the cabinets. Malik watched, curiously. "Need help?"

"Is vodka or tequila used in Bloody Mary's?"

"… really?"

Knees bent as he climbed atop the counter, procuring a bottle of vodka. "Would you prefer I lie?" Tomato juice, a squeeze of lemon, and a broken piece of celery twirled the mixture together, hot sauce added before he nipped a piece of of the crunchy vegetable

"At least you're using V8."

"And I'm eating _celery._ I'm all types of healthy these days." Eyes remained transfixed, glass to his lips. "They know."

Whether it was a shocked of knowing look sent his way he'd never know, the crinkle of paper moved. "I see." It wasn't hard to guess how, with all the hiding and scurrying they had to do. Just as it was pretty clear by the state of things- frying pan on the stove, dishes with food left behind- that they'd left in a hurry. Brown eyes rose, studying the face that offered no feelings nor emotions, a mask of perpetual nothingness.

"… they'll understand someday. Altair and I were hesitant and our reasons are personal." They still probably wouldn't like it, but they could learn to live with it.

"I'm so tired." Pinching the bridge of his nose Haytham slumped forward, elbows sprawling on the table. "I've the most people in my life, and I've never felt so entirely lonely." A laugh, more of a cruel chortle than anything before he resumed his drink, face carefully blank save for the sheen in grey eyes. "Perhaps it's for the best." It simply hurt no less. Fingers clasped his glass, voice soft as he fled, yet again, so much fleeing...

"Forgive me, I just need to be alone." No sooner was he shutting the door behind himself, content to lie on the bare mattress and contemplate the slowly crumbling life he'd one lived.

-=-=-=-

After coffee Connor and Leonardo went their own ways again, the latter going to drag Ezio out of bed as Connor returned to the guest room to finish his apology.

The most difficult thing about said apology was figuring out what it should be, as a mere note or a letter wouldn't be enough. What he needed to show was that he did truly care; he had already apologized a dozen times so he was pretty sure that Haytham at least knew that he hadn't meant to hurt him, so there was that.

And Leonardo had promised to help him with part of the apology he couldn't do on his own; they met again in the kitchen later today, after having been informed by Malik that his father had locked himself in his room again. Now was a good a time as ever, and Connor listened to Leonardo's instructions carefully, not ashamed to ask him for help when he had to. The result was only slightly burned toast, but still very much edible and the best toast he had made thus far. The tea wasn't too strong for once, and actually had a lemon slice instead of lemonade in it (he wouldn't make that mistake twice!) along with two sugar cubes, just the way Haytham liked it. Even the muffins came out nice and his omelet actually resembled an omelet! Fresh tomatoes from the garden were added – Leonardo had suggested strawberries but Connor remembered his father didn't like them for some reason, so tomatoes it was! Connor realized that the whole thing; buttered toast, tea, muffins, tomatoes and an omelet was all a bit of a strange combination but hey, it was the thought that counted and he had done his best on this! It just needed one more thing... He spent a good ten minutes wandering around the garden looking for the biggest, prettiest flower to add to the tray. Not a rose though! Roses were cliche and finally Connor settled on a large lily from the large overgrown pond in the back, carefully cleaning it from any filth and icky critters (leeches, ugh!). The letter he had written was added last and he took a step back to admire the result – even his father couldn't ignore this, his thought with a grin!

“Well, good luck, Connor!” Leonardo clapped him on the shoulder, blue eyes twinkling and Connor rubbed his neck, sheepishly grinning.

“Thank you for the help, Leo. I appreciate it.”

“Bah, don't mention it. It was my pleasure.”

Nodding Connor gently picked up the tray, careful not to spill anything, and after a final thumbs-up from Leonardo he made his way out of the kitchen, down the hallway and up the stairs, his heart beating away in his chest the closer he came to the master bedroom. This was quite nerve-wracking... what if he didn't like it? What if it wasn't enough? What if he was too late? What if-?

_Stop it!_ he mentally berated himself as he stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath; setting the tray on the floor Connor raised his fist and, praying that this would work, knocked his knuckles on the polished wood three times, before quickly making his way back to the guest room, further down the hall and slipping inside. He kept the door open just a sliver, enough for him to peek through and watch. If Haytham responded positively to his surprise, _then_ he'd show himself. If not... well, that was something he'd rather not think about.

-=-=-=-

Far from the emotional type and one whom dwelled, forcing his mind to concentrate on other matters seemed a feet too difficult. Try as he might thoughts lingered to the last fortnight, the spiral of events that day by day drove him further into his state of melancholy. This wasn't who he was. Glasses strewn and eventually thrown aside, he could but imagine how long he lay there, mattress curvature indenting his skin as he rose to examine himself in the mirror.

… and he rolled his eyes before lifting the glasses from the floor. Those contacts better come in by tomorrow...

Changed appearance or not happiness evaded him, the look on his own face not one of neither anger nor rage, but of exhaustion, sadness. He could revel in anger, turn it into a cause, yet sadness weighed him down, a thick, dense cloud of suffocating fog that he could not shake.

His drink had long lost it'\s appeal, hot sauce and tomato juice unfortunately giving him heartburn. Great, now he looked younger externally but was internally _old._ He popped a Prilosec before sipping water from the faucet, remembering it was wise to eat when consuming oral medication. As if he was hungry-

Three solid strikes on the door and Haytham raised an eyebrow. Malik or Altair perhaps, checking to see if he was alive. "Enter." A lack of response and lips twitched, the words repeated once more before the short fuse erupted and he marched towards the door. "For heavens sake-"

The smell hit before the sight did, furrowed brows giving way to surprise, glasses adjusted.

This wasn't for him. No. Must be Altair trying to get him to send it to Cristina- oh there was a lily, and everything, he quite liked those- and muffins, and tea with lemon...

No, that _was_ for him.

Kneeling he noted the letter, handwriting easily recognizable, eyes set to the task of reading.

He'd almost wish he _hadn't,_ fragile resolve declining until he need bite his lip to stay silent, a few deep breaths taken to rid his nerves.

_Dad,_

_I know that I'm far too late with this. I had this planned for a long time, to have this be a first step to what I hope will end with us being together again like we used to. But I misinterpreted your message, misunderstood the meaning of your words and for that I'm sorry. I know you're probably tired of hearing me say that, but it needs to be said. Had I understood better I would have done this weeks ago instead of making you wait like I did. There is no excuse for that and I won't pretend there is._

_I wronged you horribly, broke your trust in me and I can only hope it's still not too late to earn your forgiveness. I am not a perfect son to you, I know I have many faults but I do my best to be the best I can be and to make you proud. We haven’t always seen eye to eye, the start of our relationship was a difficult one and though I know the circumstances that led to us becoming close were hard and difficult as well, in a way I'm still glad we ended up the way we were._

_And I miss it. I miss you. I miss waking up next to you. I miss watching you sleep. I miss the warm press of your chest against my back and your arms around me under the covers. I miss the smiles you would give me throughout the day, I miss stealing sneaky kisses when the others aren't present, and the quick touches and fleeting glances we would give each other when they are. I miss having you near._

_And I miss seeing you happy._

_So please accept this, and please allow me a chance to talk to you again, to explain, and all I ask is that you please listen with an open mind. I'm bad with words, but I do try. I really do!_

_And I hope that this can be the first real step for us to move forward again, towards something better for us both._

_Forever yours, your son,_

_Connor._

_PS: the tea is safe to drink, no lemonade!_

At least the last line brought a smile to his face, no matter how breathless it was. A few moments and he remained still, folding the letter before pocketing it, eyeing the tray. Too much food for him, and it looked appetizing...

Stepping over it he walked towards the guest room, blinking as he became aware that he was being watched.

..."You're such a..." How long had it been since he smiled anyway? It felt foreign to him. He took two steps back, lifting the tray and approached the door again. "... I don't supposed I can eat with you." Fingertips toyed with the lily, edges of his face winning the battle and fitting into a smile. "In light of recent events I could use a little company. And this actually looks more than edible." He'd help in this, and whoever helped him was getting major Haytham points in his mental like-o-meter. But first thing first, his gaze locked on Connor. Perhaps it went without saying but...

"I've missed you too." Horribly.

-=-=-=-

It was taking too long. Why was it taking so long?

Huddling behind the door Connor held his breath, the seconds ticking by slowly. And then the door finally opened. Haytham saw the tray and Connor watched him lean down and pick up the letter, nearly biting through his lower lip as his nerves reached an all-time high. Oh man he was reading it. He was actually reading his note, in his horribly messy handwriting and oh man, there were sure to be a few spelling mistakes in there he hadn't caught and he'd see them and _oh man_ it would ruin everything!

And oh shit he was coming this way! Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Connor braced himself, knowing that Haytham had already spotted him and braced himself, hoping for the best and... was that a smile?

… he was _smiling!_

It took a few seconds for that little fact to sink in but when it did, his own face split into a grin so wide it hurt his own face, and Connor eagerly opened the door fully. Yes! _YES!_ Fucking yes!

“Y-yeah, of course!” He stammered and quickly stepped aside to let his father in. He would have preferred to be allowed into the master bedroom but he wouldn't ask, he wouldn't push this too far too soon. One small step at a time... that seemed to work.

“Um, just a sec.” The room was messy, the floor still littered with dozens of crumpled up papers, candy wrappers and paper fast food bags. His clothes lay in a messy pile on the bed and Connor quickly scooped them up and dumped them on the chair. He hadn't really bothered to keep the room neat; clean, yes, but not neat. He hated this room. Absolutely hated it, but he had nowhere else to go. Either way, it didn't exactly motivate him to clean up his things.

Unable to wipe the grin off his face Connor gestured to the bed and sat down himself, nervously brushing a few stray strands of hair out of his face. This was _better_ than he had expected! He had hoped to see Haytham accept what he had made and take the tray into his room, and instead he was _here_ and offering to _share_ and telling him he had _missed_ him and it made him feel like he was floating on cloud nine! Suck on that, Altair!

“Leo... Leonardo helped me with this.” he said, nodding to the tray. “I think I'm finally getting the hang of the kitchen a bit. Just a little bit.” The toast wasn't burned that badly. “S-so... um...” Ugh, his voice was shaking. Nerves, mostly. He had been waiting and hoping so long for this moment and now that it was here, he shut down, unable to get the words he needed and wanted to say out. “Thanks... for giving me another chance, dad. I really did miss you a lot... sorry for taking so long...”

-=-=-=-

Oh, well. A peak around and it was clear who the cleaner of the two was, Haytham cautiously sitting on the unmade foot of the bed, speculating as to just exactly how one could destroy the harmony he'd built in this room. Granted there weren't open food containers but it was a cluttered mess.

Although the slightest twitch of lips, eyeing the crumpled bits of paper, from the same stationary origins as the one so tucked in his pocket.

"I'm not the most popular man as of late." He wouldn't share the tea, no, that was his. Everything else on the plates were fair game, omelet split in two, the first of almost everything to be cut in half. All slightly and noticeably larger pieces were placed Connor's way, eyes lighting up as he fished a cherry tomato, popping it into his mouth plain and he swallowed before continuing.

"I'd like to mend what I can. That and this..." Another tomato placed in his mouth and he grinned after finishing that one. "Is a surprisingly thoughtful effort. To be honest had you done this the day after the event occurred I'd have beaten you with the tray and tossed the food aside, figuratively speaking." Since they were being honest, it was the truth, leg crossing over the other as he sighed. "I'm not the easiest person to read."

Though assuredly Connor knew that by now. Connor had always been far easier to comfort in a way, emotions often displayed openly where as Haytham found himself fleeing from what he felt. He was only better with idle chatter and explanation due to his lack of emotion in most cases, though the weeks had thusly proven... arduous.

"The effort is appreciated." After what felt like a few moments of silence, fingertips grazed the lily, toying with it. "But I'm doing all of the talking when your letter pleads the opposite." He was warm, even from the distance he maintained now the lad was so damn warm. When was the last time he felt comfortable sleeping? William had only helped so much, and Altair, while his intentions were nothing but the best, did not compare to Connor for reasons obvious. Perhaps it was exhaustion combined with the need for affection, but he stilled, intent on listening. Intent on being swayed.  
"I haven't been angry with you in almost a week, not for your transgression at least, but I'm curious... do you really think it may happen again? I promise to quiet myself and listen to you, lad, but I ask that you heed my curiosity. What prompted the action, exactly?"

-=-=-=-

No... Haytham indeed wasn't easy to read. Often times Connor wished it was easier, it would have definitely caused less problems. Then again, it was a challenge too, if he could learn to read his father the way he was. Even though he knew his father quite well – or liked to think he did anyway – there was still so much left to learn. He was still quite a distance away from getting to know all there was to know about his father. One day though...

“Well, I didn't actually expect you to come to me, so I'm still trying to figure out what to say what I feel needs to be said without... using the wrong words or... or saying something that I mean well with, but comes out the wrong way and... you know?” Had that even made sense just now?

It was surprising to hear that Haytham hadn't been angry with him in almost a weak, especially considering the absolute _hate_ that had followed after William's arrival here. But that wasn't what Haytham meant, right? He meant, not having been angry at him for what he had done. It had nothing to do with William. Not now anyway.

His question though... he had been asked that before, and last time he had answered that he didn't know. He'd like to promise that he wouldn't ever do that again, of course! But he wasn't sure if he could. He couldn't predict himself. He was unpredictable and while he'd love to blame that on Brazil, he knew it was also just _him._ Just because he wanted something really badly didn't mean he could actually make it happen, or make it not happen. As to what prompted the action though...

“Thinking back on it, it was a very stupid reason of course.” he muttered and took one half of the muffin, taking a small bite from it. “I'm not trying to make it sound like an excuse. I also don't really... remember everything. Just a lot of anger. I was angry, dad. At you, for disagreeing with me on something that I thought was very important. Like I said, no excuse! You're entitled to your own opinion and I _should_ have respected that and keep things civil. But Lee... that is a really big deal and I simply... don't _understand_ why you think jail time is worse than death. I still don't understand. Even so, disagreeing with you, I should _never_ have done what I did, should never have reacted the way I did and ever since it happened there isn't a moment when I don't regret it. To... go and do something like that after everything you've done for me. 

“I'm just...” A deep breath and Connor put his half eaten muffin down again, unable to swallow another bite as he stared at the opposite wall, fingers fidgeting with his shirt. “I'm not a bad person, but at the same time I'm not a very good son either. A good son wouldn't have done that but I'll be better. I'll _become_ better! I promise.” Or die trying, because if he _ever_ did that to his father again...

-=-=-=-

Ah, he hadn't expected for a truce of sorts so soon. Quite frankly neither had Haytham, but perhaps emotion bore more responsibility over his reasoning than logic for the time being. Not that he'd continue festering anger, simply that he was more receptive given the tribulations with his own friend, and Connor's daunting absence...

He stuck to nibbling on his half of muffin. It was easier to chew than think, and admittedly he was famished in multiple ways. Food at least helped the lesser of the two as he listened, brows furrowing until his own expression grew incredulous.

"Is that what you hold true?" Oh but he told no lies, not when he was like this. "You are correct, I'm entitled to my opinion and you yours, and I'm not going to bother with a long winded explanation- for god's sake, stop fidgeting so much- just... oh here!" Both hands, he grasped both of them. Touch turned gentle rapidly, thumbs stroking over knuckles. This, he'd missed this. It was a battle, fighting the urge to lean against him, to get lost in warmth and aftershave and the utter silliness that was his lad.

The thickness was willed away just barely. "You are _not_ a bad son, Connor. You've issues with aggression and anger, yes; a short fuse in regards to certain persons, yes; are more prone to violent outbursts, yes. This doesn't make a bad son, neither does what happened. Nor does it diminish the good you've done." It bothered him, stray hair, and one hand left to touch a longer strand, tucking the likes behind his ear. Practiced and easy, everything with Connor came so naturally.

"… I'm not exactly the perfect father, Connor. I've literally placed you on the street in a jealous rage, and have threatened to do the same twice. I've drunkenly kissed you, interrupted your own mourning process; I've effectively and intentionally made you miserable at some points for my own benefit, and I still don't consider myself a horrid father." He wasn't. The amount he'd done outweighed the immaturity, he knew that. 

"We're not perfect, nor have you ever required me to be, and the same is extended towards you, lad. I'm not asking for you to be. But you're far from a monster, we've faced those in the dens lad, and you are not one of them. You made a _mistake_ and it was a horrid one yes, but it wasn't intentional, and if I am the wronged party and can look past it, then so should you."

Perhaps it was too soon... but thoughts evaded him, lips pressing to his forehead and all else forgotten as he did so. Affection, warmth, happiness. He missed those things, all of which were provided solely by the person under his touch.

-=-=-=-

Connor looked up and his eyes widened as Haytham took his hands. Just... took his hands, just like that, his thumbs rubbing circles over his palms and knuckles. He had almost forgotten what they felt like but no, he remembered every callous, the exact length of his fingers and their thickness, the warmth of his hands against his own and on his body.

_Easy there cowboy, don't get ahead of yourself now!_

Ahem.

His eyes followed the path of the one finger that reach up to push a stubborn strand of hair out of his face and he sat perfectly still, not even blinking and his attention shifted back to what his father was saying.

And it was such a relief to hear it from his mouth, the confirmation that he wasn't that bad, despite everything that he was and had done. If his father said it it had to be true, no? He desperately wanted to believe that. These last few weeks of constantly walking around with the fear that Haytham would never be that close to him again, to continue to be distant towards him the way he had way in the beginning, that things would never be the same again... it had taken its toll on them both.

They indeed weren't perfect, but then again, no one was. And even so, he couldn't think of Haytham as a bad father either, not after everything he had done for him, saving his life and all.  
Most of all, the confirmation that Haytham thought that what he did was a mistake and not intentional... that was the part that flooded him with relief. Connor had been desperate to have him believe that, that he had _not_ done it on purpose or because he had wanted to hurt him! He could _never_ hurt him on purpose.

Brown eyes closed as Haytham leaned forward, and seconds later he felt warm lips press against his forehead. Connor could swear his heart stopped beating for a second, jumping in his chest at the intimate touch that was so simple yet meant and said so much at the same time. It may not be outright forgiveness, but it was _close_ and it was far more than he'd hoped to achieve today.

He would remain careful though; as much as he wished to pull his father into a tight hug Connor knew he couldn't, not suddenly anyway. Slow did the trick as he moved forward, paying extra attention to any sign that Haytham wasn't comfortable with him leaning closer until his face pressed against a warm, muscled shoulder. His hands remained fairly low, resting on Haytham's forearms gripping his sleeves... Connor didn't think his father would appreciate his hands anywhere near his neck anytime soon. Again, that would take time but that was alright.

Oh god how he had missed this... And there were still more things he wanted to say, mostly about William but they could wait for now... he didn't want to ruin the so very pleasant moment.

“Dad... d'you think you could talk to Altair sometime soon? He's still giving me the evil stink eye whenever we pass each other, still thinks I'm a threat to everyone, I guess. Or that I will try to murder you in your sleep or something, I dunno.” Pfft, seriously Altair? Overly paranoid much? Still, Altair wouldn't listen to him but he would listen to Haytham, and while Connor didn't expect to become pals overnight again, it'd be nice if Altair would at least stop being so hostile... especially considering they'd need to team up and trust each other to watch their backs in the Russian den soon.  
“He won't talk to me, but he listens to you, so...”

-=-=-=-

He almost need stifle a chuckle, allowing the noticeably small contact and appreciating even that. It was better to ease their way back into their relationship, baby steps and the like. He almost questioned his next movement but let it slide, fingering rapidly growing hair as Connor laid his head to rest.

"You mean to say the _subtle_ glances are too much?" Yes, the looks and behavior was done with about as much subtlety as taking a brick wall to the face. Even so fingers continued their trek, over both the long and short bits of hair, enjoying the simple comfort brought by being close. The was something perhaps more intimate to this than any kiss would suggest.

"I'll talk with him. He's rather protective. Don't repeat this to anyone, but his father died when he was young, he never knew his mother. I suppose he's taken a very personal attachment to me. I can't understand it, but perhaps I needn't." He could confide in Connor, or at least attempt to again. He allowed the silence to reign until his stomach interrupted, and soughed, sheepishly. Ugh, cold eggs... yet the omelet looked rather tasty, and it had tomatoes and his favorite stuff in there...

"How about I re-heat a few things, and we take this to the gazebo while I can still admire the foliage before this whole place is covered in a blanket of frost?" That and he really wanted his contacts to be in the mail, the glasses were always in his _way._ “We still have much to go over for Russia, and I fear morale may be lacking. I expect some suggestions of how to remedy this over tea."

He didn't wait for a response, slipping away slowly, tray between his hands. "And Connor? We need to pick out a special gift for Leonardo... this was needed, and I wish to properly thank you both once my mind is no longer addled with liquor. Now go get a blanket, it's probably chilly outside. Also my boots are in the bedroom, third to the left in my closet, if you wouldn't mind..." Of course he wouldn't mind, Connor was making up for what he did. A grin overtook his features as he fled to the kitchen, readying a pan to reheat the eggs and placing his tea in the microwave. So what if he took a litttttttle advantage of the situation?

-=-=-=-

“Mhm, I won't say a thing.” Like he needed another reason to make Altair angry. No, his lips were sealed. It wasn't his business to talk about anyway. At least Haytham promised he would talk to Altair, that was something. Things were finally looking up.

“Yeah that sounds like a good idea. I'm up for that!” It was with reluctance that Connor pulled away from the warmth he'd had to do so long without, but he knew it was only for a short while. He watched his father slip out of the room with a tray and nodded at the suggestion at getting Leonardo a gift. Yeah, they should give him a gift, with all the help he had given him Connor might not even have gotten this far this soon.

Opening the door into the master bedroom was almost... scary. It had been so long since he had last set foot into this room. Pushing the door opening Connor peeked inside, looking at the bed and feeling the familiar soft carpet under his toes and he closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Smelled like... like Haytham. It was comforting and improved his spirits even more, grin wide and bright as he walked into the room and moved to the closet to get the blanket and boots, but not before storing his fingers over the pillows on the bed. Soon...

Blankets in his arms, Connor made his way down the stairs, the delicious scents coming from the kitchen already reaching him. He passed Leonardo and Altair on the way down, ignoring the Syrian's glares and giving Leo a bright thumb-up and a wink.

“What the hell?” Altair muttered and the native skipped away in the direction of the kitchen. What made him so happy? Leonardo just shrugged and offered a sly smile, blue eyes twinkling.

“Oh you did something, didn't you?”

“I didn't do anything, Altair. But he and Haytham are finally making up, you should be glad.” Patting the Syrian on the shoulder Leonardo left, leaving Altair standing there, eyeing the direction Connor had gone. Hm...

~*~

Connor joined his father in the gazebo, settling on the swing chair before tossing the heavy blanket over them both and handing him his boots. This was nice, very nice, just sitting here watching the garden slowly grow darker as the sun set, staying warm under the blanket as he leaned against his father, sharing the meal he had made. There was no talk about to den, no discussing about what to do; it could wait, William could wait, Myriam could wait and Altair could wait... until tomorrow. Right now, this was more important. The silence was nice.

It was just he hadn't felt this comfortable or happy in quite some time, and Haytham finally seemed happy too. And he quite liked taking it with small steps at a time. He wouldn't push this or do anything hasty, and wait for his father to show or tell him that he was ready to take things a step further again. Until then, he'd wait and enjoy what he gained back.

“Hey, dad?” he said softly and turned a little, stifling a yawn against his father's shoulder before he nuzzled closer against him. “Thank you.” For the second chance he had been given.

-=-=-=-

"Mm." He hadn't spoken much, tension spiking but quickly draining as Connor lay against his shoulder. Alone he'd have been cold but very accustomed to feeling such, Connor was a practical furnace, a life size, much friendlier furnace. From the horror of this morning finally came a bit of clarity and peace. It was a start, and it couldn't have come at a better moment. Only a couple of weeks until they were in Russia, where as William had rightfully claimed, they could expire or face a fate worse...

Of course his mind would wander to such, even so comfortably stationed. As a guardian to so many, a parent, a lover, it was but natural to have concerns, some of which occasionally bested him. Under circumstance he could always voice them to Connor, mind easing itself to sleep after sharing a portion of what ailed him. That comfort had been stricken though, and thoughts spiraling... to think they'd spent this time fighting when there was far worse in the world to face.

Boot clad feet pushed from the earth, the gentle lull of swinging unable to distract him, neither did the thoughts of dishes to do, or conversations to have. The repetitive, soft hammering of what he knew was a heart remained fluid against his arm, fingers tightening on the lad's knee. So much time wasted. In retrospect it was sickening. Without intervention, they may have went to Russia without a further word to one another, and if circumstances should decline... if they should be incapable of swift escape, his last words would have remained screams, the memory of pleasantry fading away with their lives, or his life, or forbid, Connor's life.

Time passed rapidly this way, Haytham's thoughts twisting further as the croak of toads and chirp of crickets grew louder. A chill fluttered over him with a gust of wind, his peripheral catching Connor's relaxed disposition, a far cry from the circles he bore. He deserved some peace, didn't he? Didn't they both?

_Don't Haytham, don't._ A warning of the ill advised; this was too fast, too much too soon. They'd hardly spoken, only just beginning to mend what had occurred, and yet the continual thump he heard grew louder until reason drowned itself. Sleep, just for one evening. Just to feel cloth under fingertips and smell hair as it ghosted his pillow. The reflection from a nearby plate showed what he needed, both men against each other and at peace. Fingers tightened along jeans, clenching.

"I'm quite ready to retire." Hesitation lost itself in brown eyes. "Perhaps I can persuade you to accompany me?"

-=-=-=-

Blinking Connor frowned and looked up, staring at his father's face. Had he... really heard that correctly? Like, _really?_ “You...” he muttered, not really quite believing that his father had really just suggested, even though his heart skipped a bit, because if he _had_ heard it correctly...!

“Are... are you serious?” he asked and straightened, pulling back just enough so he could meet grey eyes dead on, a glimmer of confusion and hope shining in his own. “Accompany you to... your room? Our old room?” Oh man, he was stammering too much. Dad was waiting for an answer!

“I mean yes. Yes! I'll come! I... didn't expect it though, but fucking _yes!”_ Connor couldn't help it; he grinned again, a bright and happy one. He had just been invited back into their shared bedroom! Ignoring what had happened this morning this was definitely turning out to be the best day since their trip to Canada! While he had finally gotten used to the bed in the guest room it still wasn't the same of course; he still hated sleeping alone and his nights in that bed still left him feeling restless. He still wasn't sleeping as well as he should.

But tonight, if Haytham really did mean it... he was looking forward to a night of actual rest sharing the same blankets as Haytham!

“Just.. let me get some things from the guest room and I'll join you, 'kay?” he asked, pulling away further and slipping off the swing before running back into the kitchen with one last grin flashed over his shoulder before slipping inside.

He ran up the stairs with three steps at the same time and nearly tripped over his feet as he stumbled into the guest room, grabbing his toothbrush and paste before running out again towards the nearest bathroom, almost knocking a confused Ezio over in the process. Quickly brushing his teeth and taking care of the necessities he ran back and stripped, tossing his clothes on the floor and slipping into his pajamas (he could always take them off later if Haytham made it clear he could!) Ffffffff okay. _Okay!_ No need to be nervous. It was just sleep anyway, it wasn't like they would get intimate or anything. Which was fine of course! Just sleep! And cuddles! Yay! Cuddles!

Alrighty! Running a quick hand through his hair Connor nodded to himself, willing his nerves away and left the guestroom that had been his for weeks, walking the short distance back to the master bedroom where he stopped and knocked on the door, his stomach fluttering. He couldn't wipe the grin off his face even if he tried. “Dad?”

-=-=-=-

One would have thought he'd offered an engagement ring or offered everlasting affection using the dreaded 'l' word. No such luck, but even his cast iron nerves flipped at the exuberance, the dashing smile placed his way shushing the inner turmoil.

Dishes clacked as they hit the sink, rinsed before a sopping sponge took to dried bits of food. Just one night of normalcy, to dredge himself in something pleasant and comforting before facing the unknown again tomorrow. The smile remained ingrained, burned to memory. What it could hurt, a few moments of happiness for either of them?

"Would you like some assistance?" 

One needn't turn to recognize the voice. "I appreciate the offer, Ezio, but I can do the dishes-"

"You sure? Because your hulking bear child almost ran over this pervert." A smirk was cast Cristina's way, her head resting in her hand, lashes batting. "He seems happy. And I'm assuming by the lack of alcohol on your breath that you two are making up?"

… Had he been so transparent all this time. A flush tinged features as he tapped the faucet, dishes about halfway done. "I hadn't meant to cause any awkward circumstances or stressful situations. I do apologize if you've felt anything but comfortable."

"Uhm, really? Did you forget from where I came from like, not even two months ago?" Manicured fingers strummed the counter top, a frown on her face. Oh, already a chip? Ugh. "You'd have to do a lot more than drink excessively to make me feel uncomfortable. Now having said that, shouldn't you be getting ready for bed?" She didn't wait for a response, practically shoving Haytham away from the sink. "Ezio has this covered."

"Yes we-wait what?"

"Don't be like that Ez, suck it up and do dishes for papa." Papa? A wink was sent his way before she shooed him off, pointing to the sink, Ezio sulking but doing as he was told. "Go be happy for like five minutes, you deserve it."

"… thank you." And he meant it, truly, even if it meant dragging his feet just a tad, more anxious than anything else. A very quick shower and he'd slipped into his own set of pajamas, matching deep blue satin top and bottom. Fidgeting with his hair he tied it back, only to release it again, sighing. Like a damn child he was, some giddy love-struck child.

"Dad?"

"I'm decent." _I'm decent?_ What the hell kind of- oh forget it, Connor knew what he meant, coming in (thankfully) fully clad himself. And no less nervous than he, frazzled nerves apparent, Haytham patting the spot beside him, bed properly made with clean sheets and new pillow cases.

It was like seeing a friend he thought dead. That's the only comparison he could think of as Connor sat beside him, any awkwardness fading rapidly as what felt like instinct took over. What should have been forced or mechanical simply wasn't, Haytham immediately taking to his side, drawn, inhaling the slightly sweet scent always accented amongst his hair before tugging him down, only to bury his face in the junction of neck and shoulder.

_Too fast._ It was a meek voice now, Haytham ignoring it in favor of inhaling the scent he'd so missed, so avoided with vigorous intent. It was moment before he moved, leaning back against pillows, fingertips tracing the hem of Connor's shirt. He missed him. The tangle of legs no matter bare or clothed, the spill of hair, the deep breaths and occasional snores. To have him again was both exhilarating and terrifying, and he whispered with a voice that showcased such.

"Let's attempt sleep." Before he wound himself too tight. Already was he tempted to seek out lips and claim them again, resolve slowly slipping as his self imposed stint of solitary dissolved. He settled for tracing freckles with his thumbs, having to almost forcibly remove his fingers from cheek bones. "We've much to discuss, Russia is but a couple of weeks away." A pause and he exhaled, forehead pressed to Connor's for a moment. "… and you are effectively destroying almost half a century of reserved resolve, so turn over." Emotions were a dangerous, treacherous beast... as were doe eyes and an addictive smile.

An arm extended over the form, broad and warm, Haytham whispering in a warm puff of breath. "Good night lad."


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Haytham, you old fox. :D We could have uploaded this chapter yesterday, but despite it not being Vindi!Haytham's birthday today in this story, we still felt like today was better.
> 
>  **Warnings for this chapter include: the usual dose of angst, violence and there's character death!** Also, you'll probably be needing tissues. This plot point has been in the planning since before the hiatus and originally this was gonna happen way later down the line, but fuck that. Also, we're sorry. Tears were shed writing this.
> 
> Enjoy.

When Edward Kenway was buried, Haytham placed a bouquet of white lilies alongside his father. Delicate, velvet petals bruised beneath small finger tips. The air remained cut with the bawling of his mother and the absence of his sister's nagging. Haytham never ventured attending other funerals until decades later, but Ziio's closed casket prevented sentimentality. Or so he liked to pretend. At the time, he had a bizarre state of mind.

New Rochelle was lovely in the fall, though chilled. Had he not desperately needed to right himself, Connor would have come along. The recent debacle with William plagued him, a lingering ache. He knew all along he'd forgive Connor, but he'd wanted him to work for it. Selfish, contrite idiocy. It cost them dearly. 

Feet moved of their own robotic accord, white lilies laced together. He'd a frog in his throat after all this time.

What to say, what to say? As if she'd somehow magically hear him. And even if she could, as if she'd want to.

"Hello Ziio." They'd done a wonderful job. Flowers spared no room for grass up what he assumed was the length of her coffin, true Mohawk fashion. Fingers stroked the artful carving of her name, lilies vibrantly contrasting against grey stone. 

"I've been stricken with emotion these passed few weeks. I suppose if by some miracle you're watching, you already know that. Connor's doing better though, and is ready for Russia. Our son, in fur coats, as if he wasn't enough of a bear." A gust of wind and Haytham stilled against the chill, fingers still stroking the letters of her name. 

"He thinks I'm visiting Thomas. They all do. Really I'd give anything to glimpse at William for a moment. Thankfully no one seems to realize how much his friendship meant. I do not often admit to feeling slighted but his absence..." It twisted at his insides. An hour every other day or so reserved for William became a spot of emptiness he'd yet to fill. 

"I miss him." A sudden tightness in his throat and Haytham closed his eyes, coughing it away. "I miss you."

Silence reigned for a few moments before Haytham regained control and allowed himself to speak. "I ventured here to formally apologize, Ziio, for what I did to our son. Nurturing vengeance, staining his hands... bedding him. There are moments I wonder if without pressure from myself if he'd concede to any of this. I wonder if I've manipulated someone younger and kinder as Birch did me. I'd like to think I haven't, yet when the question gathers itself I can never present it to the lad. 

"I am not one to weep and wonder, but I do confess to fancying names. Hayley, Heidi, Henry. Children with great doe eyes and crooked smiles. Inadvertently, I've located orphans, strangers whom are now family. It's soothing in ways I can't begin to fathom. In spare moments I cultivated reasons for their departure, yet we remain an amalgamation of united front. Whether deserving or not is uncertain, yet their loyalty remains." Fingers twisted, wringing. "… I could be marching them all to their deaths."

Silence for moments, Haytham dropped hands and folded them behind his back. "I wonder if this too was a wise venture, ingratiating as young adults appear. Yet none are obsequious nor subservient. Truly I have located a magnificent working of people." Ones he'd not let down. Altair, Malik, Ezio, Leonardo, Cristina. All of them deserving of lives far better than granted. 

"I did not come here to seek approval for my actions. Surely you'd side with William, and I do not cast blame. Rather I came to apologize regarding Connor."

He need mull over thought, pausing to steady himself. There was a Christian expectation deeply instilled that still expected a response from her, earth splitting as she would rise from the grave and drag him to the pits of hell for all he'd done. Perhaps it was of merit. He couldn't not say with rose tinted lenses.

But soil remained unperturbed, eyes downcast, focusing on even blades of trimmed grass before rising to meet her name. 

"I love him, Ziio. Not as a father should, but I do. I hadn't realized until William left and the ordeal regarding Charles over. I was disrespected and anguished to that extent due to my emotions. Reason would have dictated forgiveness at his expression of sorrow. I choose spite. I wanted him to hurt. Ruthless and very immature, but he'd spoken such words of affection and I wanted them to be true, but I was plagued with doubt over his actions. Yet, I craved his affection. I admittedly held a grudge and then instantly forgave which was not... I was unwise to do so, though I regret it not. Without William I wanted to cling to someone, and Connor did not disappoint. My only regret is lacking the maturity to forgive sooner.

"… I am off topic again. I do not know why I flounder so. This isn't about my recent stint with depression, Ziio. This is an apology for what I've done to our son. I robbed him of a normal life, of children or a career. Not solely, what with Brazil and Charles. But I robbed us of grandchildren. I robbed Connor of a life better suited. I will likely perish before him and leave him alone to the world. I fear it actively. I've turned our son into a man who can kill skillfully. I stole him from all he knows in the name of retribution and vengeance. I have aptly changed Connor, and in darker moments I bear resentment towards myself for not protecting the lad as a father should."

Overcast cloud elongated shadows, and Haytham steeled himself against another gust. Rain was rapidly approaching and it wasn't long before the first droplets touched down in gaunt trickles.

"I am sorrier still, for I fear I no longer seek vengeance predominately in your name, but in Connors. You linger in my thoughts as ever, but I act in his favor. I do not know when that began, only that I am silently considering the death of Charles through his insistent desire to see him lifeless. I'll not make that known until I am certain. What I need make known to Connor is my returned affections, yet they still upon my lips, venom I fear may be used against me as it has been." 

Fatter and steady now, his hair dampened under the pitter patter of rain. 

"I offer my greatest condolences, Ziio, for knowing full well thatthough I am remorseful, I would choose Connor and associated affections for him where I given a second chance. Perhaps I'd garner larger testicles and make the full extent of my feelings known sooner. After returning from Russia I will force myself to be forthright. No sense in distracting the lad before a mission. Russia is one of the last dens. It will be good for him to return to some, I assume, pleasant confession." Connor could do with some pleasantry, their mending relationship in a steadier course. 

"I adore you as ever, Ziio. Rest easy and well. Perhaps I will visit again before my own burial." He knew his place regardless, sandwiched between Ziio and Connor, for eternity.

~*~

Thoroughly needed as the trip was, his arrival at the airport prompted nothing but joy. The absence of William for nearly a month may be daunting, but certainly even such was no comparison to what he'd endured with Connor. 

Despite his failed friendship, his son's renewed presence beside him offered sanctuary. Speaking of which, keen eyes kept watch, for naught it would appear. As if he could miss the enormous mass enthusiastically waving, coupled by a much smaller blonde.

"Lad." He limited contact to a hug; paparazzi was limited but still lingered. "Leonardo." He spared another hug, duffle bag in hand as he followed them to the car, and eyes rolled as a camera flashed.

"Mr. Kenway. Who do you have there?"

"My newest associate, you mean? Why, he's foreign. And blonde. Perhaps more intelligent than I and certainly younger-"

"Meow!"

Haytham near snorted as Leonardo batted his eyes. "Yes, thank you darling. That's precisely it, Leonardo." Haytham paused, shoulders shrugging as he leaned forward and planted a kiss on Leonardo's lips.

Only to have a tongue enter his mouth. Stunned, Haytham stood still as the camera flashed, aware of hands grabbing his- woah, okay, alright Leonardo. His cheeks would be sore for days after that pinch, though lips no sooner vanished and Leonardo returned back to waving politely. Except for one thing.

"Leo, did you take my gum?"

Blonde brows wriggling, gum presented between white teeth. Haytham paused, smirking as they entered the van and throwing his duffle bag next to Connor.

"You can keep it. May I say, I feel _very_ welcomed home." He spared a wink Connor's way. "How're you, lad?"

-=-=-=-

“They're still staring at us.”

“Hm. Well, you gave them quite the scare.”

“Pfft, I only growled a little.” Peeking under the rim of his hoodie Connor glared at the gathered group of paparazzi, no doubt waiting for the same reason he and Leonardo were. Why they were still even interested in his father was honestly beyond him; ever since he'd handed the company over to William, Haytham had made it a point to stay under the radar and not draw much attention to his life and his name.

Honestly, what were they hoping to get other than a few photos no one would care about? Vultures, the lot of them...

Next to him Leonardo laughed as he slowly twirled the styrofoam Starbucks cup around in his hands. “You also bared your teeth and gave them quite the death glare. You do your _name_ proud, Connor.” he chuckled. “Just hope they didn't snap a picture of _that_ for the tabloids tomorrow.”

“Oh please.” Connor shuddered. “How do you think dad's gonna react if he sees a photo of me snarling like a rabid animal? He's finally nice to me again, and I really want to keep it that way.”

“That's a good attitude. Speaking if your father, I think I see him.”

Oh really?? Standing on his tippy toes Connor roamed his eyes over the mass of people gathered in the hall. Where was he, where was he? How could Leonardo, who was _shorter_ than him, spot his father before he did? How did that even make sense- oh wait, there he was! “DAD!” Waving his arms Connor grinned. Haytham had only been gone for a few days but it was still nice to have him back! The house just wasn't the same without him.

Of course the paparazzi vultures jumped to attention the second Haytham showed his face. Ugh. Could they please go? He'd save his welcome-back for when they were alone again and- hello! Leo! Was that _tongue?!_

“Uh...” he stammered, catching the duffle bag as Haytham climbed into the back seat. He quickly followed, Leonardo getting behind the wheel, and through the rear view mirror he could see the blonde's pleased little smile, all the while toying with the gum he'd stolen.

“I'm... fine.” he muttered as he closed the door and buckled himself in, and Leonardo began to pull away from their parking spot. “Are you? That's gonna be _all_ over the news, you realize?” Leaning closer to his father Connor pushed his hood away, hands resting on the duffle bag between them, and grinned, waggling his eyebrows.  
“They're gonna think you have some kind of fetish for younger men, you know? First Altair in Sydney, and now Leo?” It didn't bother him, no. Amused him, more likely.

“Rather they focus on that than other things.” Leonardo mused from up front as he stopped in front of a traffic light and turned around in his seat, blue eyes gleaming. “Besides,” he chuckled. “I can cross this off my bucket list! Not everyone can say they've french kissed the mighty Haytham Kenway, can they now? Good gum by the way.”

Snorting, Connor quickly straightened as the car began to move again, biting his lip in a vain attempt to keep from responding. If only they knew...

-=-=-=-

"It's sweet mint. I've more in my luggage. Aside from headphones, it's perhaps the best method to prevent ears from popping with cabin pressure." And aside from that, he spared another grin.

"Anyone who wishes to gawk is welcome. Far be it from me to fight being eye candy." Perhaps his lifted mood brought out this flirtatious behavior. He winked at Connor.

"Being eye candy at my age is a delight. Especially given my unkempt mane." Which was overwhelmingly salt and pepper, and trimmed once more, falling just past his shoulders.

"I think you look distinguished."

"I think that kiss has gone to your head."

"No, couldn't be. I recently heard that I'm an intelligent foreigner." A bubble inflated, and popped under Leonardo's teeth. "You look well. How was your visit?"

"Thomas is well as ever. Still engaged in nefarious prostitution and enjoys it immensely. More than anything, I'd like a proper cup of tea, one squeezed lemon, no Lipton for the sake of all. Ugh, Lipton. I adore the states, but their tea is for twats." 

It was a short ride, and he took his luggage up the steps, front door opened in front of him; confetti rained down as his senses were promptly assaulted with noise makers. Silly string clung to his hair. He waited out the noise, only to have his luggage snatched from him.

"Welcome home." Cristina kissed either cheek, enveloping Haytham into a hug. "Malik made you tea. It's red rooibos though, so there's a touch of milk in it."

"I haven't had rooibos in ages! Thank you, love." 

"We also got you Lady Grey and Irish Breakfast. I expect you to be up to drinking tonight, were heading out in what, two days?"

"Indeed, Altair. We'll play cards against humanity, but first a shower." And a visit to the bathroom. He hastened Connor, beckoning him. "Lad, can you bring the bags up for me? I'd like to show you something."

-=-=-=-

It took everything he had to not burst out in laughter as Haytham received an impromptu shower of glitter and confetti. Ezio had talked about doing so this morning, but Connor hadn't thought he'd actually go through with it. The Italian looked mighty pleased with himself as Haytham stepped inside and brushed string off his shoulders, taking off his coat and throwing it Ezio's way.

“Nice!” Connor whispered as he stepped inside as well and fist-bumped Ezio on the way. Very bro-fist-of-bene worthy! “Though he's probably gonna make you clean it all up.”

“Meh.” Ezio shrugged. “Altair can help.”

“Excuse me? No I'm not.”

“Do too. You wanted the honor of assaulting Haytham with noise makers as well. You helped me make this mess, you'll help me clean it up, _bro._ ”

“I'm not your bro-”

“All right, settle down.” Leonardo quickly stepped between them, pushing a hand against Altair's chest. Some of the silly string had gotten onto his beret as well. “I'll help you clean, if Altair promises to set the table to dinner tonight.”

“Aw man, Leo, you know I hate setting the table.”

“It's that or vacuuming.”

“... fine, I'll set the damn table.”

Connor left them to their squabbling, lifting Haytham's duffle bag off the floor and slung it over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs with three steps as a time. Entering the master bedroom he could already hear Haytham through the open door leading into their shared bathroom; smirking Connor set the bag on the floor against the bed and hurried inside, scooting behind his father who stood in front of the mirror picking the last bits of silly string out of his hair.

His arms found their way around his father's waist, fingers tightly locking together where they rested on his abdomen, and Connor rested his chin on Haytham's shoulder. “Glad to have you back, dad.” he purred and turned his face slightly, just enough so he could catch an earlobe between his teeth, his grip on him tightening. “I know you were only gone for a few days, but I've missed you something _terribly._ ”

-=-=-=-

Lips twitched and Haytham relaxed into the touch. The passing weeks had been recuperating to say the least. He didn't flinch in the slightest as teeth pressed to his ear. Connor was a welcome furnace, his thumping heart a soothing rhythm against his back.

"Of course you did. I'm irresistible." Fingers thread through thick strands of black with gentle strokes. "I suppose I've missed things about you. Such as your ability to do this." He considered elevating the situation. Large hands hadn't engulfed him intimately in sometime. But he digressed. They'd but days to spare before their departure, focus was needed.

He did, however, turn his face, lips pressing to Connor's forehead. Awkward perhaps, but entirely worth it.

"I'm tempted to court you into a shared shower. So very tempted." He nuzzled growing strands, but forced them to part, removing the remainder of the awful confetti.

"Must keep our wits about us. We've but a few days to prepare. Besides, think of our homecoming and the rewards after we return from Russia." He whispered huskily. "I'd wager it would be explosive." 

The playful shrug was abrupt, Haytham smirking. "Now vanish. I desperately desire a bath in peace, that flight is longer than I recalled and that confetti sticks."

-=-=-=-

Eyes drifted close and Connor took a deep breath. Yes, he had thought about the moment they would return from Russia, and how they would celebrate their victory. Had thought about it a _lot_ late at night and in the wee hours of the morning, alone in bed or in the shower by himself. It had been a month since he and Haytham had made up again, and while things were most definitely all right between them again, as far as intimacy went it hadn't gone much farther than this.

Hugging and kissing.

He wished it could be more – not that he didn't cherish whatever intimate moment he could get – but he knew better than to press the matter. He was ready, but Haytham had to be ready for it too, and Connor wouldn't push him. This was a test of limits and patience, and he was determined to pass with flying colors.

Besides, it wasn't like he wasn't aware of how difficult the last month had been for his father. Haytham hid it well, but not well enough. The fight they'd had with William bothered him a great deal as well, and he could only imagine how much worse it had to be for his father. They'd been the best of friends for so long after all, and now William wanted nothing to do with them anymore. 

He hadn't spoken to Myriam either, nor Shaun. He'd almost called her a few times, but chickened out at the very last moment. Her expression, of shock and hurt and disbelief... it was hard to forget. Ah well... perhaps once this was all over and done with, they might make amends.

Maybe.

“Shame.” he mused as he pulled back as well. “Glitter suits you.” He quickly ducked out of the bathroom with a chortle, leaving his father to take a bath in peace, and bounced down the stairs. The hallway had already been made confetti-free but when he entered the kitchen the only one present was Malik, seated at the large table, eyes on a thick book.

The table itself was littered with papers, maps, notes and various bits of gear and weaponry; their research on the den in Russia.

Granted, it wasn't as much as he would have liked.

“You worried?”

Looking up at the sound of Malik's gruff voice Connor met his dark eyes and shrugged, picking up one of the sheets with notes. “Of course. Aren't you?”

“It would be stupid not to be worried.”

“Yeah... but if I may be honest with you, it wasn't this bad the previous times. I mean, yeah, I was worried back then too of course. And anxious. Scared. But... at least with Bali and Sydney we were able to actually check the place out before the raid, and do some on-site research. We had an general idea of what we were getting in to and what to expect.”

He could feel Malik's eyes on him as he tossed the sheet back down and braced his hands against the table, sighing. “No such chance this time. I don't like going in blind.”

“Hm.”

“You don't think so?”

“No, you're right.” Straightening with a grunt Malik closed the book and shoved it away. “But it's either going in blind, or not going in at all. Leonardo and I will do what we can to hack into the database and procure a general layout of the place as soon as possible.”

“Yeah... I know you will. Thanks Malik.”

“Hm.”

Malik's words helped, a little. But still, he couldn't shake off the nauseating bad feeling he got in his stomach whenever he thought about the upcoming raid. They were scheduled to leave in two more days. Ah well... a bit of worry kept him on his toes, it was healthy. They'd be fine.

-=-=-=-

He was left to his own devices for a moment, shower quick but thorough as he bounded off to drink what was hopefully warm tea.

Bleh, tepid at best, but the flavor was spot on. Haytham sat beside Malik, another kettle brewing. He sipped, muttering about his contact before fetching his cleaner, removing the left one. "I swear this lens always has a smudge in the corner."

"Wear glasses."

"Sod off, you twat. I'm already gray. There is only so much aging I will be forced to cope with at once, Malik."

"We can always change your name to bald eagle." Haytham near bit Altair's hand as it ruffled his wet hair. "You're thinning."

"No, I'm not. Believe me, I check religiously." 

"Why not change it to silver fox?" cooed Leonardo, none to shy. "It's fitting. I'm sure Cristina would agree."

"Leonardo, I'm not certain what came over you recently but you're beginning replace Malik as my favorite." Silver fox had a ring to it, one he quite liked.

Setting his tea down Haytham looked over the various papers and notes littering the table, and scoffed. "We've little on the schematics I see. I expected as much." All they had on the den was a general location, and it wasn't as if they could show up to Russia unannounced and attempt a sting. The satellites offered nothing. They would have to search on site.

"Do you think we can try to send me in when we find it? Ya know, scout this place out?" 

"Doubtful, Altair." Haytham finished his tea, eager for a warmer cup. "I'm sure they're wary of new customers by now, given the recent stints and raids. I'd not risk your life in such a manner. We go in the cover of night with the element of surprise. We do not rush the situation, and if we sense anything off during infiltration, we'll call it off and resume at a later date, with a new plan."

He ensured to meet everyone's individual gaze. "You're all irreplaceable. Of course we wish to end this senselessness, but not at the cost of our lives or jeopardizing all future operations. We go in united and leave much the same."

-=-=-=-

Everyone nodded solemnly at those words. Of course Haytham made it sound easier than it truly was. There was little they could do, except their best, to trust in each other. This was going to be without a doubt the most dangerous raid so far, and the previous ones had already been plenty dangerous.

Connor sighed and watched as Leonardo poured another round of tea and coffee for those that wanted it, passing on the offer and excused himself as he pushed his chair back and stood up from the table. He was as prepared as he could be, and two more days of training wouldn't make much difference... but it would keep his mind off of things, keep him busy, and working himself into an exhausted sweaty mess helped him sleep better at night. He'd been spending a lot of time down in the basement as of late, working out, pushing his body... but mostly he'd been working on his archery skills.

He was a good shot, but he knew that there were ways to get even better, to shoot faster and harder. It was an old way of archery, near forgotten, but he'd seen videos on youtube of this guy who'd sort of reinvented it, based on old texts and manuscripts at what not. He was no where near the level this guy was at, but it gave him a goal, something to work towards.

As it was, he was now capable of firing three arrows and hit his mark (most of the time anyway) in the span of a handful of seconds. Had anyone asked him to do just that a year ago, he would have scoffed and proclaimed such a feat was impossible. Turned out, there was a trick to it, which made it doable. Not easy and not without a lot of effort and practice, but doable.

And it would only get better in time.

Connor heard the door of the basement open as he yanked one of his practice arrows out of the wooden target he used, keeping his back towards the stairs as footsteps descended down the steps and came to a stop behind him. Probably Ezio, or maybe dad, or Leonardo. He'd been at this for a while, his bare skin gleamed underneath a thin layer of sweat. How long had he been down here? Was it already time for dinner-?

“Ahem.”

He froze, arrows still in hand and slowly turned to glance over his shoulder. His eyes locked on Altair standing at the foot of the stairs, and Connor frowned.

True to his promise, Haytham had talked to Altair like he'd asked. He hadn't been present, didn't know what had been said but whatever it was, it seemed to have placated Altair.

For the most part.

While no longer openly hostile towards him like he had been before, it was now replaced with an almost uncaring indifference towards him. Connor knew that when it came down to it, he could trust Altair with his life, could trust him to watch his back in the dens, and vice versa... but here, back home, Altair barely talked to him beyond the necessities, and sometimes didn't even acknowledge his presence in the room.

At times it made him wonder if the Syrian still thought he was a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off.

He wasn't, thank you very much. He'd learned from that grave mistake.

So what was he doing here, seeking him out all of a sudden? “Can I... help you, Altair?”

Amber eyes snapped up, glaring at him from underneath the hoodie Altair had pulled up over his head... but then his shoulders sagged and the man sighed. Lips parted and closed again, teeth grinding together as Altair stubbornly stared at the wall once more, struggling to actually say the words he'd come down here to say.

“So...” he finally ground out, breaking the tense silence as hands clenched into fists at his side. “I... realize... that I may have said some things to you a while back that were... uncalled for.”

Connor said nothing, unable to hide the surprise on his face as Altair suddenly bristled and jabbed a finger in his direction. “That doesn't mean that there wasn't any truth to my words!” he growled, slowly lowering his hand and taking a deep breath. “But... I had that talk with Haytham and I know he's forgiven you and I... and that means I should probably... I mean, it's been a month and... you know! With the den raid in two days I thought that...” Altair's voice tapered off. Shoulders hunched up and his hands found their way in the pockets of his hoodie once more, his whole posture, as did the scowl on his face screaming frustration and discomfort.

It wasn't what Connor had expected to hear from him. Honestly he felt a little miffed, not because Altair had taken so long with his apology if that's what this was, but because the Syrian apparently seemed to feel like he needed to look out for Haytham more than was normal, like some kind of overprotective chicken.  
His dad could take care of himself for crying out loud, and he didn't need a baby sitter.

Still... he knew from personal experiences just how difficult it was to offer an apology, and that this was pretty huge, coming from Altair, even if he hadn't actually heard the word 'sorry'.

Altair hadn't moved, still glaring at the far wall. Connor slowly breathed out and turned, taking a moment to carefully put his bow and arrows away before he faced the other man again, head tilting slightly. “Is... this an apology?” he asked and had to bite back a grin as Altair bristled like an angry cat.

“Fucking hell- yes, Connor! That's exactly what this is! Don't make me spell it out, man.”

“Your apologies are even shittier than mine.”

“Oh fuck y-!”

“But I accept... and I appreciate it. Thanks.”

Altair's mouth closed with a clack and for a few long seconds he just stared, amber eyes burning before he finally nodded, though it was no more than a quick jerk of the head, and turned on his heel. Connor waited until he reached the stairs again. “Hey Altair.”

His answer was an irritated glare over his shoulder that would put Malik to shame, and Connor almost winced at the intensity in Altair's eyes. Still... “... you look like you could use a good work-out. Wanna spar?”

“... seriously?”

“Yeah. Why not? Unless you're... scared?”

Finally, a grin as Altair turned his back on the stairs and pushed his hoodie down. “You're gonna swallow those words, pup.”

“Bring it on, dodo bird.”

-=-=-=-

~*~

-=-=-=-

He'd barely grown accustomed to the time change between the States and England, and here he was, subjecting himself to another again, their current location a whopping eight hours ahead of London. Haytham's head rested idly, trying to milk the last bits of sleep as he sat in the back of the car.

At least the amount of reporters had significantly lessened, more so now given the cold kiss of winter that was Irkutsk Airport, miles south of the Siberian District.

"Why is it so fucking cooooold." Altair shivered in his seat. Even Haytham would admit to himself, this was a different sort of cold.

"Be happy we haven't far too travel." This den was just east of Lake Baikal. "Siberia encompasses about ten percent of the world's land mass. Most of which is significantly colder that Irkutsk."

"Leonardo, how do you know these things?"

"Google, Ezio. I google."

Haytham snorted, giving up on the idea of sleep. It was a breezy night, scarce flurries whipping about. They'd have two days to acquaint themselves, get over their jet lag, and by the third day, infiltrate as best they could.

Well, and another thing. They were staying at a nearby hotel, and he waited until Connor entered their room before beckoning him over. "Lad, a moment." That's right, approach. All for Haytham to shove his cold fingers up Connor's shirt, alarmingly warm skin warming him- hey!

"Don't pull away, I created you, I will use said creation as I see fit." And for now, he was a furnace.

-=-=-=-

It was official. He hated travel and most of all, he hated flying. And this... this had been a very long flight. They'd rented a van near the airport, big enough to comfortably hold them all, as well as the equipment Malik and Leonardo would be using to safely see them through the raid.

It was cold. Very cold. New York got plenty cold too of course, as did London but it was nothing compared to this. How did these people manage? It made him slightly concerned and he'd voiced as much; the kevlar suits they wore on the raids weren't exactly made to endure this kind of weather, were they? Leonardo had said he shouldn't worry; the material he'd used for padding underneath the kevlar would actually help to combat the warmth long enough until they got inside the den, where it was sure to be warmer.

Still, Connor was glad to finally be inside their warm room in the hotel, even if he was carrying most of their luggage. Three rooms, and of course he'd be sharing this one with his father. Grunting as he set the heavy suitcases down Connor nudged the door shut with his foot and neared at Haytham's request, only to have the coldest hands in existence suddenly shove themselves underneath his shirt and press against his stomach.

He hated to admit it... but the squeak he made bordered on unmanly. “D-dad! Jesus-!” He froze nonetheless and grit his teeth, trying not to squirm away as Haytham's hands smoothed a path up his ribs and over the bump of the one that had healed crooked, sliding higher until freezing fingers brushed over a nipple. Connor jerked and shuddered, a tiny moan escaping his lips – granted he wasn't trying very hard to keep quiet – and he swallowed thickly.

_Oh._

“U-um... I uh... I'm gonna have to c-call dibs on the shower because I think... I think I need a moment alone soon.” Very soon. He couldn't help it, it had been a long time! Don't blame him. This was all to blame on Haytham's tendency to use him as a portable heater.

Not that he minded much.

-=-=-=-

What?

"Pardon? I shower first. Sheldon has his spot, Star ships are meant to fly, and I shower first-"

Oh, but his hands had danced their elaborate patterns, sliding back down over smooth dark skin and had touched Connor's thighs. It made him all too aware of the impressive and surprise guest appearance of impressive appendage.

"... I'm flattered, and suppose I can bend the rules just this once." A kiss to Connor's cheek, and Haytham stepped back, tossing hair over his shoulder.

"We'll go over the schematics later. Supposedly Altair challenged Ezio to try lamb testicles and they're both flailing about. I'll be sure to order you something different." His kiss was gentle, hand soothingly rubbing his back. 

"Dry your hair thoroughly, all right?"

-=-=-=-

Connor sputtered, a flush rising to his cheeks as lips brushed over them. “I _always_ dry my hair thoroughly.” Except when he didn't. Which was almost all the time, mostly because sometimes he could convince Haytham to take a towel and dry it for him, and he did so enjoy his father's fingers combing through his hair.

Even so, he was grateful for being allowed dibs on the shower – his dad could be so anal about always wanting to be the first – the second he was let go off Connor spun around on his heel and rushed into the direction of the bathroom, kicking the door shut as he pulled at his sweater. It was somewhat ridiculous, he was well aware of that; one simple touch, a small brush of fingers, and it was enough to make him react like _this._ He wasn't quite tenting or anything, but he was definitely feeling it.

A quick wank under the hot spray would tide him over for a while. Hopefully.

Water running Connor was barely patient enough to wait for it to heat up to an acceptable temperature before he jumped under and braced his hand against the simple tiled wall. The other jutted down and it was with a shuddered gasp that he closed his fingers around his erection and squeezed. Finally. It wasn't even all that difficult to imagine it was his father's hand instead, so wonderfully calloused and firm and strong... he'd done it often enough.

Grunting he fumbled for a small bottle of shampoo, complementary of the hotel, and squirted a decent amount into his palm – oh much better, a much smoother slide. Eyes fluttered shut, forearm bracing against the wall as Connor sucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit down. It helped, swallowing down a moan as he thumbed the slit and pushed his hips forward, slowly fucking the circle of his fingers. 

Ultimately it didn't take him long to finish. His teeth pressed into the fleshy part of his thumb to muffle his groans and gasps, brows scrunching together as he painted a thick stripe over the tiles, slowly dribbling down the wall in messy globs as he squeezing himself for all that he was worth.

Shuddering he sagged against the wall, listening to the roar of blood pounding in his ears while he gulped for breath and dropped his hand, letting the water slowly wash away all the evidence of what he'd just done. He couldn't take much longer. Even if Haytham hadn't figured out just why he'd called dibs on the shower – unlikely, it had been rather obvious after all – if he didn't come out soon his father was sure as hell still gonna bitch at him for using up all the hot water or something.

Heh, but he definitely felt better.

He emerged from the bathroom five minutes later, still slightly flushed and wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants and a towel, draped over his hair which was still very much wet and dribbling rivulets of cold water down his spine. “So um... lamb testicles? Seriously?”

-=-=-=-

"Honestly, Connor." Grey rolled as his very wet bear sized son emerged in loose sweats. Loose sweats, how on Earth did the boy manage that given his size?

"Sit. Now." Snatching the towel, Haytham wiped up the path of his spine. He wrung the ends of yet black hair into the towel and started to dry at the top. "You'll catch your death." It lacked bite, a weak warning as Haytham's touch softened even more. Knowing Connor, he'd wanted affection in some form or enjoyed the pampering. Perhaps both.

Haytham fished through his luggage a moment later, instructing Connor to stay put at the edge of the bed. It took seconds for him to retrieve a brush and Haytham resumed his seat on the bed behind his his son, slowly working out any small knots.

"Yes, lamb testicles. Evidently, there's now a challenge between Altair and Ezio, and I'd like no part in it."

He mocked Altair's voice, eyes rolling. " 'C'mon thinning eagle, I'd thought you'd like balls in your mouth.' I do not even within my own species. What he described is necrophiliac bestiality." A jest of course, but no less true.

"I'm getting bear, and you're welcome to try some off my plate. There's a variety of kabob." He talked for moments longer, about playing cards against humanity or pictionary that evening. He abandoned the brush in favor of running fingers through damp, thick locks.

"It's grown out quickly. Maybe you should cut the center, for a uniform length. It would reach your chin, perhaps longer." Hair moved in an inviting curtain, and Haytham moved in to press lips against Connor's neck, then shoulder, small ghosts of nips.

"You're too lovely, lad..." Fingers traced a path up Connor's vertebrae, lips busy with the raised patch of white scar on his shoulder. "Sorry I shot you." A chuckle left, lips leaving a warm kiss. "I can't believe I shot you with an arrow and its not even the strangest thing about our lives."

He could feel prickled skin. Haytham slid either hand through the gap of Connor's arms and his sides, where fingers cane to rest of the uneven jut of his rib. Fingers stroked, careful. Gently. He'd almost lost Connor permanently more than once.

"Lad." On the tip of his tongue, flirting with escape. Say it, Haytham. Three little words Connor deserved to hear. He'd made great strides in controlling his anger, Haytham saw the YouTube videos and books he'd halfway read. It was an active effort. They were works in progress, and Connor was progressing into something he wanted beyond his wildest fantasies.

"I... I admire your strength in all of this. You've grown, immensely." Just a hair above a whisper, Haytham speaking into the junction of neck and shoulder. "I should..." Another calming, deep breath, and Haytham averted his gaze. Ceiling, floor, TV, anything that wasn't Connor's face or eyes.

"I... I lo-"

Sudden pounding on the door made him jump and jerk away from Connor, even though it was locked.

"Aye, guys, c'mon. We're starving here!"

Haytham hung his head, dragging a hand over his face. "All right, yeah I'll be right there. Just call ahead and order-"

"We don't speak Russian!"

"Oh you daft shaft, I don't either, Altair! It's French and English only. Go find someone and pay them to order, I don't care, I've got to shower."

Haytham flopped back, groaning as courage slipped like sand through fingers. "... I'll be quick in the shower." His mood soured with his expression, Haytham pulling the damp towel with him. And for the second time that day, he muttered so Connor could hear.

"I'm sorry. You deserve to hear it. I... " But he could only shake his head, bitter look crossing his face.

"I'll be right back." He slammed the door harder than necessary, throwing the towel and pulled his hand over his face. "You pansy. You utter steer."

-=-=-=-

Connor didn't dare speak. Didn't even dare to breath almost out of fear he might miss Haytham's whispered words against his skin. Haytham's clothed chest pressed against his back, and his own hand came up to clutch the pair resting on his ribs. He knew what this was, knew what Haytham was trying to tell him, something he'd wanted to hear for a long time yet never expected to hear anytime soon, simply because his father was... well, _himself._

It was awfully romantic and cliche as well, something straight out of a romantic movie, but this, waiting and listening to his father preparing to say the words... he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his heart flutter, and a tingling feeling to settle in his stomach. Butterflies.

He'd said the words himself once and he'd meant them, still meant it... but he hadn't expected to hear them said in return then, because he knew such a thing wasn't easy for his father to say.

Until today...

And Altair just had to go and ruin the moment.

Haytham's sudden withdrawal left him cold, numb almost, and his hand slowly fell back into his lap. So close, and still... “I know.” he whispered, eyes briefly flicking up to meet grey and see the bitter expression. The door to the bathroom slammed shut and Connor sighed, taking a deep breath as he curled his hand into a fist. “I know...”

~*~ 

Ezio and Altair were still bickering by the time Connor opened the door to the hallway, now fully dressed and shot the Syrian an irritated glare. He couldn't confront the man about the moment he'd just ruined with his untimely whining – how awkward would that be? But that didn't mean he couldn't be pissy about it.

“You ask them!”

“I'm not gonna ask them! What if they don't even speak English? I'll look like an utter _idiota._ ”

“Good, they won't notice a difference anyway. There's one, go ask!” 

Ezio sputtered as Altair shoved him in the back and pointed at a hotel staff member further down the hall. “Merda- let go of me! Why don't we ask Leonardo?”

“Ask me what?” The door next to Altair and Malik's shared room opened and a familiar blond head peeked out, curious blue eyes blinking in surprise. “You're making an awful racket out here. What's going on?”

“Leonardo! Il mio migliore amico!” Shoving Altair away Ezio quickly sidled up next to his friend and slung an arm around the blonde's shoulders, eyelashes fluttering. “Can we ask you a favor? Could you go and order tonight's dinner? Neither of us speaks Russian. Grazie, you're the best. I'd kiss you but that would be weird and gay.”

“Uh...” Staring at the arm around his shoulder Leonardo frowned and shook his head, smiling as he pushed Ezio's hand away. “I don't speak Russian, Ezio.”

“But you speak like ten thousand languages!” Ezio sputtered and Leonardo laughed.

“That is a gross exaggeration. More like half a dozen. But I'll see what I can do. Connor?”

Huh? What? Shit, he hadn't been paying attention. Was this still about those stupid lamb testicles? From the amused look on Leonardo's face the engineer totally knew that Connor's mind had been elsewhere.

“Is Haytham almost ready to join us?”

“He's in the shower, but he said he'd be done soon.”

“Ah, no problem! Then we'll wait for him. Ezio, if you would come back in, per favore; I need your help with something.”

Door closing Altair turned and clicked his tongue, eyeing the damp strands of black hair and frowned. “He let you take a shower first? That's new.”

“What can I say?” Connor growled as he turned as well to go back into the room. “He _likes_ me.”

Altair could only blink as he left alone alone in the hallway and rolled his eyes, shrugging. “The fuck did I do?”

-=-=-=-

He washed himself, dried his hair, conditioned, rinsed with Listerine. Not in that particular order. Such a colossal failure, Haytham was still reeling when a quick gust of cold struck him.

"They're still chatting about food? You'd suspect I allow everyone to starve." It lacked any meaning. He hated talking for the sake of it, but was left little choice. Or rather, his mind just wouldn't allow his mouth free reign.

"They have interpretive services." Oh shut up, Haytham, Connor didn't care. He should have waited until after the raid, the moment was lost and filled with what may have been were it not for interruption.

Bad for morale, and they both needed morale with the unknown dangers rapidly approaching.

"Lad? If I may..." Connor didn't appear hostile towards it, Haytham wrapping arms around his frame and resting their foreheads together.

"I will not promise to muster the almost courage again this trip, nor will I make excuses. You know this is difficult, and you've been patient." It was a brief, chaste with chilled lips against his own. Thumbs stroked either cheek.

"I promise it's worth the wait. All of it. I appreciate you immensely, truly. Having said that, don't let your irritation with certain unknowing members of our team effect anything. While irritating, it wasn't malicious, and you will hear me say those words, soon."

Another chaste kiss, though perhaps less so. His tongue flicked lips, eyes closed. Lips even brushed Connor's as he spoke.

"We go in united. A team. And you will reap the benefits of our victory upon our safe arrival home." 

Tucking hair behind Connor's ear, Haytham took a step back, patting his son's cheek as he dared smirk. "Besides, Altair is about to ingest testicles. That's punishment enough. Admittedly, also something I'd like to see and my money is on pretty boy Ezio to best him."

-=-=-=-

Ooooh but this instantly made him feel better! Connor leaned into the kisses, slight as they were but no less appreciated. His hands rested on the small of Haytham's back, one slowly sliding up and down as he listened to his father's words.

“I know he didn't do it on purpose.” he murmured in return and reluctantly withdrew his hands as Haytham stepped back. “I'm trying to not be... angry with him. Just irritated. I'm _allowed_ to be irritated.” A smirk and Connor reached for his father again, tugging him closer until they were flush once more.

“Unintentionally or not, he did rob me of something I've been longing to hear for quite some time.” Whispered darkly Connor leaned in, determined to steal another kiss, the tip of his tongue licking the seam of Haytham's lips without pushing, lingering briefly before he pulled back and sighed.

“But seriously... I can wait. It's fine, I... I know it will be worth it.” And he knew that, even if it remained unsaid for now, it didn't make it any less true. Waiting remained difficult. Just like controlling his anger, patience still wasn't his forte but he tried, it was something he would continue to work on, and to hear Haytham validate his appreciation for his attempts meant more to him than he could put into words.

Well then. 

Still holding onto Haytham's hand he squeezed briefly and cracked a smile. “Dinner then? I for one can't wait to see Altair try to choke some sheep balls down!” And he was never gonna let him live that down either.

-=-=-=-

"My money is still on Ezio. Your pretty boyfriend best not disappoint." Connor's hand slipped from his grasp after a gentle squeeze. 

"Let's make a night of it. There's a few places nearby, I'd rather not have my room stink of farm raised testicles. We all know the challenge will inevitably find itself here."

~*~

"Hah, way to lose a hundred bucks, Haytham and Connor." That's right, fork those two fifties over. Fork 'em.

"I'm very disappointed, Ezio. Italians should love sausage."

"Scusami, those were testicles."

"Which you remarked tasted like kielbasa, ergo, my point." Haytham handed over the hundred, eyeing the mostly finished plate. They were just cut up pieces of meat with cooked onion minced throughout. Had it not explicitly been listed as testicles, he wouldn't have ventured the guess.

He was still grateful for his half flounder, half bear entree, delighted Connor wanted to go halves on both. And have dessert, of course, though Connor could eat that by himself. Haytham felt thoroughly filled. The bear's last meal must have been berries, there was a subtle sweetness to the meat he rather enjoyed.

"Awesome, now I can get Cristina a gift."

Haytham's brow raised, fingers tapping his glass. "What gift?"

"Uh, I dunno. She's almost ready to take her GED, I... like, she deserves a break so... ya know." Altair slouched in his seat, suddenly agitated. "I don't know! I'm gonna get her something nice. What is this, the Inquisition?"

Haytham hid his snort poorly, Malik fixated on Altair for a moment, before he huffed.

"What's that supposed to mean, Malik?"

"It means she likes you too, dodo. Don't screw it up."

"I didn't say I- wait, how do you know?"

"We talk?" 

"We'll yeah no shit, but she said that?"

"I thought you didn't say you liked her, so what does it matter?"

Silence. And then, "Okay, well, say I did maybe like her. _If._ What, uh, would she like for me to do for like... a gift?"

"Awww, this is so sweet." Leonardo cooed, pinching Ezio cheek. "Amico mio never had a chance with her."

"Hey, rude! She was just, less than enthusiastic regarding my advances."

"That's because she's been through a lot, dude! She doesn't need to be told she's hot, she needs like, affection and, and late night movies, and hand holding. Nice stuff, or whatever. I think."

Silence. Altair was about three shades darker ny now and he ducked further down into his seat, playing with his fork. Haytham took out his wallet, pushing a few bills forward. "Get her something, but give it to her before she takes her test. Just to be nice. She would like that."

Altair eyed the bills, skeptical. "Ya think?"

"Absolutely. So long as there's no... underlying expectation, a gift for the sake of giving is always nice."

"… cool." He pocketed the bills, rubbing his neck. "… and thanks."

"Of course, look for something after we play cards against humanity." Haytham's attention turned to Connor. "Would you like another dessert, since you're wearing half of this one?" His bare hand swiped Connor's chin, showing him the frosting that lay there. "I take it that was good."

-=-=-=-

Wh-what? Oh god, oh jesus, no! Blood rushing to his face Connor scrambled around for a napkin and quickly wiped his chin, grimacing at the remains of frosting that came off. Christ, and he hadn't even noticed! Dammit dad, why hadn't he warned him earlier? He'd finished dessert like ten minutes ago! Had he honestly sat here with frosting on his face for ten minutes?!

“No I'm good.” he pouted as he tossed the napkin back on the table and stuck the spoon he'd used for his dessert back into his mouth. Bah, don't grin at him like that. Could they change the subject? Like, back to Altair? Embarrassing Altair was way more fun than it was embarrassing him!

Planting his elbows on either side of his empty plate Connor smirked at the Syrian seated across of him, counting the bills Haytham had so generously donated for Cristina's gift.“I've always know you were a big softy deep inside.” he smirked, teeth clenching around the metal handle of the spoon, and Altair scoffed. Heh, his cheeks were still flushed.

“It has nothing to do with being a softy. It's simply being nice to someone who deserves it.” Stuffing the bills into his pocket Altair raised his chin and added snootily: “Maybe if you ever find someone you care about you'll find out what it's like.”

Connor said nothing, and fortunately Altair's attention was quickly drawn away to Ezio making some off-hand comment about the benefits of gift-giving and received a smack to the back of his head in return for missing the point entirely.

Altair was right though. Or rather, Haytham was right. A gift for the sake of gift giving _was_ nice and that made him think... everything Haytham had done for him over the years, when had he ever done something like that for Haytham without expecting anything in return? No... underlying expectation, like he'd said.

It was definitely something to keep in mind, once this business in Russia was over. There had to be something he could give his father, something with _meaning,_ something that would show Haytham how much he meant to him and how much he appreciated everything he did, no matter how big or small. Something he would like, something he could look back on in the years to come and fondly remember.

He was definitely gonna look into this once they were back home, that was for sure, he mused as Haytham paid for the meal and everyone stood up from their seats, ready to return to the hotel for some more relaxation together. 

They still had tomorrow and the day after to adjust and make their final preparations before they were scheduled to leave for the den under the cover of night, and Connor was determined to get the most of those two days while he still could.

-=-=-=-

They found important news after their games that night, the day to follow spent looking through new information as Malik and Leonardo traversed the region around lake Baikal following an old map of the area they'd found. 

"I've got it! This is why we couldn't find an actual entrance, it's a bunker this time and it's built _into_ a hill. Completely hidden from sight!"

Leonardo's triumphant voice carried as he pointed excitedly. "Searching the area lead to this, an abandoned railway, with a tunnel. It doesn't look like much, but I noticed these ladders in good condition. When you direct your attention up, it's clear there are hatches. So why would anyone keep ladders and hatches in an abandoned tunnel?

"Then I realized, the water table. Of course, if the lake floods, it would destroy an underground operation, but one several yards above, vaulted shut would be safe.

"We followed the track. There's an intersection and both tunnels have these ladders and hatches, all in all spanning about 3.2 kilometers. It's a distance, but I'm certain that's where the den is. We saw no people but there was evidence, recent footprints and the like, and remnants of campfires. Getting in may be difficult, and its a long but narrow layout. I'd suspect the pit is the middle station, and the cells are probably in the back."

Haytham nodded in agreement over his tea. "That would make sense. It also means like Sydney, there's a lobby first. We'll want to wait until there's a match to infiltrate given the nefarious points of entry. Perhaps the controller room or office is also in front." He beamed, clapping Malik and Leonardo's back. "Excellent find. This helps immensely." So it wasn't an exact layout but at least they'd an idea of what awaited them.

Searching continued. They found blue prints of similar, abandoned bunkers in the area some hours later, incomplete and in need of translation, but they managed an estimated size of the tunnels, a general layout that they could take too literally, but it would help nonetheless and give them an idea of the size of the place.

"They could hold an estimate three to four hundred people, depending on cell size or over crowding." If it was anything like Sydney or Bali, they'd be kept in cages, or in cells like what was the case in Brazil. The best approach was to listen and catch a live match, and hopefully intervene before more blood could be shed.

Every weapon and piece of equipment checked and ready Haytham finished dressing and everyone loaded into the van after dusk settled.

A brisk evening to say the least. The suits shielded some but even Haytham would admit there was a cutting chill.

"Cool, calm heads everyone. Because there's an intersection, Connor and I will take the left tunnel, and Altair and Ezio, take the one to the right. Communicate, alright? At all times, communicate."

As ever, he met all of their eyes. "We're a step closer tonight. Remember that."

The van parked near the tunnel entrance, under the cover of high brush and shut lights. Dense trees and woods covered the area, and they'd a half kilometer walk in the near dark before they could enter. Night vision at the ready, Haytham was the first to set a foot inside the tunnel, Connor following behind. At the intersection Altair took to the right end of the tunnel with Ezio on his tail. Yards in, it would be pitch black, and they need be ready to fire; he could only fathom who was guarding the outside, and the difficulty ladders could potentially cause.

Slow and steady was the only way to go. 

-=-=-=-

Connor breathed out slowly and nodded, lining up an arrow just in case. “Good luck, guys.” he muttered, nodding at Altair and Ezio as they turned and took to the right. There was no telling where they would ultimately end up. Guesses were all they had.

If their theory was correct, he and Haytham would hopefully reach either the lobby or the area where the pit dogs were being held. It made sense for there to be multiple entrances; one for the paying customers, and one for... deliveries. He didn't like being forced to split up already before they were even inside the den. It reduced their chances in half, and Connor had a bad feeling about it all, a sick churning in his stomach he found difficult to ignore.

Haytham led the way; they walked slowly, hugging close to the wall and minding their footing. There was no clear sign that these tracks were still being used but it was hard to tell with only their night vision to light the way.

Just how long was this tunnel? He felt like they'd been walking for thirty minutes already, and he was just about to ask when Haytham suddenly stopped and Connor almost bumped into him.

“What?” he hissed, and then he saw it. A faint flickering glow further up ahead, like that of a campfire. Sneaking closer revealed a better view; a single man, dressed in a thick coat, seemingly standing guard if the machine gun resting against the tunnel wall next to him was anything to go by. Just behind him they could see a ladder, going up and leading to a closed hatch.

The entrance.

Reaching out Connor tapped Haytham's shoulder and stuck up a single finger, before pointing at the lone guard and than himself. _Let me do it._ Haytham's sniper had a silencer on it, but even so, an arrow would be quieter.

Stepping around his father Connor raised his bow and slowly pulled back the drawstring, eyeing down the line of his arrow. A deep breath, then out, and he released; silently it cut through the stale air of the tunnel and slammed into the man's skull with a satisfying thunk. He fell without even uttering a single groan and slid down the wall into a lifeless heap.

Connor straightened and slowly walked closer, carefully observing his surroundings but fortunately finding no more threats, no hidden guards they'd missed. Placing his foot on the dead guard's shoulder he yanked the arrow out and wiped it clean on the man's coat, then looked at his father.

There could be people right beyond that hatch up above. He didn't like their odds at all. “Who goes first?”

-=-=-=-

The dismal light had worked in their favor, much to Haytham's relief. It was the entrance into the upper chambers that gave him pause.

A ladder was the sole means of entry, and the ceiling above was shut. It appeared almost vault like, a lever could be turned to open the overhead entry.

Haytham squeezed Connor's shoulder, certain. "Cover me."

Surprisingly sturdy as the ladder was, opening the vault required two hands and a request for Connor to steady him. He'd a feeling this was intentional; no one would be able to enter singlehandedly, and there was no way to be sure someone wasn't lingering above.

He heard the hatch lift, and slowed his pace. "At your ready, Wolf. I'm steady enough."

Upon Connor's response, the hatch slowly lifted, soft chatter heard in the distance.

They needed to rush, but he'd little idea where to. Haytham peaked upwards, coast clear but chatter continuing in the not so distant proximity.

"Quickly, Wolf." It was surprisingly kept in this level, warm even, and it appeared they'd entered almost a parlor, filled with coats and baggage, hung in lines with small tags attached, for identification. Judging by the number, there should be a match upcoming shortly or one was ongoing at this very moment. Haytham closed the hatch behind Connor just as footsteps approached their direction.

At least they had cover, and Haytham quickly motioned to the layer of coats, slipping behind them

A gentleman and two other, a couple from the looks of it, entered the parlor. "How do you forget _cash,_ for heaven's sake."

"I forgot they don't charge to the book anymore after the incident in Bali." the man of the couple tutted as the gentleman took their written ticket, taking a few steps and snatching the hanging coat matching the number.

"Here you are."

"Terrible, what's happening now. Can't even full enjoy a nice evening out without needing to think twice."

"Precisely why the rules are in place, sir. No more loss in profits from those who are no longer alive to collect, the idea of one of the more successful entrepreneurs in the industry -"

"Yes, yes, I know Silas well enough." Cash retrieved, the coat was hung back over, a few inches away from Haytham's shoulder.

Silas was here? He knew Connor couldn't see his gaze, but hoped he would remain calm.

-=-=-=-

Do not breathe.

Thoughts ran rampant through his head as the trio neared, and Connor attempted to melt with the wall behind him. Would these coats be enough to hide them from view? What if they weren't? They couldn't afford to already get into a fight and alert every person inside this place to their presence!

So close.

Connor listened in absolute silence as one of the men – the only one in uniform he noted – neared their hiding spot and snatched a coat off a hanger a few inches from where his father stood.

Too close! But that wasn't even the most shocking. Silas was... here? They hadn't specifically said he was, but merely hearing the name mentioned made Connor's heart painfully stop for a second. If Silas truly was here, in Russia, somewhere in this den... then there was no way they could leave this place without making absolutely sure that Silas was _dealt_ with, one way or another.

Preferably at the end of something sharp and pointy.

“Will that be all then, sir?”

“You can get me and my wife a drink. It's at least... what, forty minutes until the match starts?”

“Ask Alexei, sir; he works the bar tonight.”

“Oh piffle. I would if I knew where the bar was. This place is a goddamn maze!”

“We work with what he have, sir.”

“Spare me your excuses. Just point me in the right direction. Come along, dear.”

Connor slowly breathed out as the uniformed man led the patron couple away and reached up to push the furred collar of a thick ladies coat out of his face. “Dad...” he whispered breathlessly and shook his head. Haytham had to be thinking the same thing as he. “Don't make me say it out loud. We can't let Silas escape this time!”

They had to find him, and _kill_ him.

-=-=-=-

"That is the idea, lad. But let's not get ahead of ourselves." They'd time to spare, forty minutes worth at least. 

"Lion, we've a solid forty minutes prior to the match. I'd say give it fifty minutes to ensure all stragglers are seated. I'm not sure of their location, are they moving?"

_"It looks like it, Eagle. Osprey reported they managed to find a way up, but it... I guess they entered through a corpse drop off point. A manual pulley style lift lead them to a narrow tunnel. I'll relay the same when they make contact."_

"Fair enough. Relay their positions when available. We'll synchronize." 

_"Over and out."_

Haytham's head tilted, resting against Connors shoulder. "What do you imagine sex to be like after so long?" Hey, he needed something to talk about, and Connor sputtered so quietly.

So much for not distracting the lad. Well, he'd time to recover.

-=-=-=-

Wait what, that didn't mean- no, were they really gonna have to stay here pretending to be a part of the wardrobe... for _forty_ minutes? Fifty, whatever. Even worse! Not that he couldn't sit still for forty minutes, he'd done so often enough while hunting. It was just that... Silas was out here somewhere, as was the den leader, and Connor had no doubt that this whole place would evacuate and the two men they were after would flee at the first opportunity should someone get wind of their presence. And Altair and Ezio were still out there somewhere.

He knew they had no choice but to wait, but he didn't like it in the least.

Sighing Connor sagged against the wall, fingering the soft fabric of the ladies coat in front of him as Haytham rested his head on his shoulder and-

“Wh-what?!” Really?? “You want to talk about this now? _Here?_ ” Damn, dad. What had put him in such a good mood?

“Uh... well...” he stammered, silently grateful for the mask he wore so that Haytham couldn't see his flushed face. He'd wondered what it would be like after so long, had imaged in plenty of times... the things he would let Haytham do to him, and the things he would do in return if the man let him. Being allowed to top again for once was probably wishful thinking, but he could hope. Maybe if he reminded his father of how much he'd liked it the last time... perhaps he could be persuaded.

You know, if Haytham could push his pride aside for once.

And if not, well... it wasn't like he really minded either way. He enjoyed his father's dominance in bed well enough. Either way...

“I...” Licking his lips he shot Haytham a sideways glance. “I've imagined it plenty of times when I get a moment alone. After so long I'm... expecting the worthiest of worthy performances from you, in whatever way you see fit.” Lightly slapping the back of his hand against Haytham's chest he felt the blood rush to his face as he fluttered his eyelashes and added snootily.

“ _Daddy._ ”

-=-=-=-

He prevented himself from snorting just barely, stammering music to his ears.

"It was a question made in jest lad." He barely resisted pinching him through the suit. "Though you need only wait until tomorrow before _daddy_ acts." 

He was tempting, but so was the desire to place his head on top of Connor's shoulder. He conceded to the latter. They would be put for some time.

He checked minutes later, ensuring that Altair had received the message through Malik. _"He's staying put. They're a touch closer to the pits. They're with the pit dogs and they can hear the first trickling of people settle."_

"Alright, they can tell us when it sounds full. Keep an eye on the time. We haven't had any disturbances yet. We'll make our way down first, attack on either side."

Altair and Ezio had found themselves north of the arena, Haytham and Connor were further south, and half a mile away from them, likely near the actual lobby and the aforementioned bar where people still bustled to and from.

 _"Roger that."_ Malik ended their connection, and Haytham resumed his slumped position against Connor.

"Not much longer. At their ready, well begin heading over."

-=-=-=-

Lips pressed together, Connor silently thanked Leonardo for making these suits so tight, and nodded. Jest or not, he was _holding_ Haytham to that promise!

Minutes ticked by. The hatch opened once more, another patron climbing the stairs and entering the parlor, but fortunately the man's coat was put away well away from where they were hiding. Malik occasionally provided updates on Ezio and Altair's whereabouts and Connor almost felt jealous; granted the part of the den they were in, near the arena and the cages, was a hundred percent more depressing than where he and his father were waiting, but at least they were on the move. At least they were _doing_ something.

This waiting and standing still was starting to get to him.

 _“Wolf. Eagle.”_ Malik's voice sounded in his ear and he reached up, pressing the tiny button to reply.

“We're here.”

_“Osprey just informed me that the match is about to start. All the patrons are inside and from what they can tell, so are most of the guards. If you're gonna move you'd best do it now but be careful; they have no positive match on the den leader yet. I'll keep you posted.”_

“Got it. Over and out.” A nod to Haytham and Connor straightened, gently pushing the coats aside and stepped out into the open. It was dead quiet, eerily quiet almost; they were too far away from the actual pit to hear any of the fighting, or the yelling and cheering of the people watching. He was glad for it really... those were sounds he didn't need to hear for another lifetime, yet he also knew it was unavoidable.

Exiting the lobby they quickly found themselves in a barren hallway, with drab grey stone walls and exposed light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, casting a cold and dim light. Clearly this hallway wasn't meant for any people visiting, made clear by the fact it was a lot colder than the lobby had been.

They moved slowly, and the few people they encountered were easily taken care of, knocked unconscious when possible and their bodies hidden away in empty side rooms and storage areas so they wouldn't be found. Honestly, Connor couldn't help but feel like this was just a little too easy. You'd think that after three dens the security here would be tight, but so far they hadn't really met any challenges yet.

He didn't like it.

He wasn't sure if Haytham shared his feelings on the matter either but he was given no time to ask; Haytham suddenly stopped and Connor almost bumped into his back for the second time, catching himself just in time and peeking over his father's shoulder.

Oh.

The hallway split up, one corridor bending away from them while the other moved straight ahead. Still no guards, but he could see doors in either hallway.

But which one would lead them to the pit?

“What do we do?” he whispered as he leaned around the corner and stared at the doors up ahead. Who knew what could be behind them? Valuable information they could use? Computers? Laptops?

-=-=-=-

Something was wrong.

He sensed it the moment whoever entered calmly placed their coat aside. A barren tunnel did not hide bodies well, no matter their effort, and Haytham knew that. Either this party was that oblivious, or knew of a presence. Their presence, perhaps. 

Yet as they lay in wait, mute silence creeping as time ticked, thick silence permeated the air. He was forced to shove notions aside in favor of action, but their swift and smooth progression gave him further pause, steps slowing to a crawl as they peeked down a split in the corridor. 

"What do we do?" Ah, the lad had his own reservations. A keen instinct only made deadly given the obvious predicament. 

"We do what we came here to do, Wolf." He swore the communicator clicked audibly as he reached Malik. "We're splitting up, no choice in the matter. There's a hallway that divides, one with a curve, one that is straight. I'll be taking the curve." For obvious reasons. 

_"Roger that, we'll keep a close eye on you two and have Osprey and Falcon stand down until the ready is received."_

"Ten four, over and out." He paused for the briefest of moments, mouth suddenly dry. "Wolf, be cautious above all else. No matter who should appear, do not run off." Please do not run off. Please be safe, and keep your cool. "Be careful, and above all else, safe." 

He did not wish to part, each step a weighted drag of quiet feet. He managed with minimal turn around, Connor remaining in sight as he reached the curve of the hall. He barely peeked, awaiting a ricochet of bullets, angry steps, something. Anything. He rounded the corner after seconds of silence. Nothing waited for him. It was a barren stretch of dimly lit hall, floors and walls the same concrete. 

He'd the urge to switch predicaments with Connor, knowing this appeared safe for the time. Doors lined the straightened corridor, some locked, some half ajar. He searched those, checking closets, under desks, but there was no one in sight. Of course they could be hiding in the locked rooms. Always better to be cautious, his weapon remained at ready until he hit the largest room. 

Bingo. 

Plushly carpeted, a marble top desk sat by a keurig machine, cold coffee on standby. Again, he checked the closet, under the desk, but there was no one present. Judging by the coffee they'd been gone sometime, perhaps to watch the ongoing match. There was another door, closed.

Two computer monitors rested, side by side, the desk faced the back wall. An odd position indeed, but Haytham hadn't time to move it, toeing the door shut. The lock didn't work, but Haytham let it be; in and out, so he could reunite with Connor and find the arena. His gun hung from his strap as he set to work, blinking several times at the smudge that appeared in his vision, and he growled. 

"Really?" Now, contact? Stupid lenses. He spared a glance, removing a glove with his teeth, and slipped his fingers under his mask with some difficulty.

"Fine, just come out then." Head titled upright, he managed to remove the lens and pulled his glove back on, staring at the monitor before him.

Connor. He blinked, making use of his right eye and squinting. His pulse caught.

Connor, Altair, Ezio. Right here on the screens. All of their movements tracked by what he could only assume were incredibly small cameras as they hadn't seen a single one visible. 

They knew. The entire operation was at risk, and whoever watched these cameras _knew_ they were here! His hand flew to his communicator as a sinking cold feeling settled in his stomach.

"Lion, Hawk. This is an emergency. Get everyone to evacuate immediately, we've been compromised! I repeat, we are aborting th-" He hardly managed to hear the door's squeal as it opened behind him, his rifle in his hand but not yet raised as he turned and was met staring down the barrel of a standard magnum. 

Perfect teeth sucked as he looked at the one holding it, and it was clear as day Silas rarely, if ever, held a weapon. 

"And who're we, hm? Trespassing yet again?" 

Haytham said nothing, lip between his teeth and he weighed the situation, from Silas' single handed gun technique that was near laughable, to the crease in his brows.

 _"Eagle? Eagle, can you hear me?"_ He dare not answer, fingers tapping the sides of his weapon. 

"So, you mind telling me who you are?” Silas tightened his grip on the gun. “I've already a pretty good idea."

"Do you now?" Thank all for the voice scrambler, though it did nothing to hide his tone. 

"Mm, oh I think I do. What other man would have the audacity to show up to several places of business, unannounced, and trash them like he owned them? To bring in a crew to do the very same in his wake." Silas' gaze drifted to the monitors and his gleamed. "Oh, I know." he tutted. "What you didn't expect was Robert. Robert, Robert, Robert, Bigger than your monster of a son even, with about ten more years of experience. He'll crush his fucking little head, then every single person who works with you. No, I don'tt need an army to stop you. Just one weapon."

"And your guards, what of them?"

"A couple of pawns taken in the rough game we know of as life. Hey now, you didn't think we'd cancel another match, did you? It's bad for business, ya know." A step forward. Haytham held his ground as Silas continued. "You're bad for business, Kenway."

Lips twitched beneath his mask. " _Good._ "

Silas pulled the trigger and only succeeded in giving Haytham tinnitus, ears ringing as he lunged forward and knocked the man to the ground. The gun rolled, Haytham swatting it away and readied his hidden taser. This ended now, tonight, with a simple stab to the-

A shriek of pain he only vaguely recognized as belonging to himself Haytham stilled, caught in a haze of chiming church bells ringing in his ears. A dizzying wave struck him, eyes slowly glancing down to the butchers knife jutting from his side. Silas' hand was on the handle and it pulled, removing the knife once, twice, only to punch its way back in.

Time stilled. As if on automatic pilot, instinct, his fingers activated the taser instead and his hand shot down pierce Silas's neck. The result was immediate; Silas shrieked and shook beneath him, his convulsing hand twisting the knife a few degrees before he finally let go. Haytham's rubber soles stopped the current form harming him but his kevlar nor body could stop the butchers knife, buried in to the hilt. 

Slowly onto his side the ringing in his ears quickly became louder, and Haytham scrambled for a foot hold as adrenaline pumped. No, no, no, don't move it. The doctor in him forbade it, Haytham pulling him self onto his back. The slick warmth of his own blood warmed now exposed skin. Breaths hitched and his taser retracted. Silas lay in a daze, and Haytham pushed himself away, out of reach, pressing one hand to the wound in a vain attempt to apply pressure. 

Silas's hand... the one behind his back...

Of course. Clever bastard.

Shaky fingers pressed the communicator, eyes glued on the dark blood trickling from him, the sudden fear piercing him. The taste of copper, the sound of tingling bells. "Lion... I... I need back up."

Leonardo paused, staring at Malik. His tone... so strained, high in pitch. His vitals were off the charts, and he couldn't ask, couldn't bring himself to ask the question, and would thank Malik later for doing so.  
_"How badly are you hurt, Eagle?"_ Because that was it, wasn't it? He was very clearly hurt. 

"It's moderate." A whimper escaped as he shifted, head resting against the wall. Silas was fidgeting, twitching still. "I've been stabbed... two... no, three... three times in... I think it's the liver. Based on the symptoms, the-" Fear. The sudden, blood curdling fear, the dark blood. Yes, that was it. A hit to the liver could do just that. 

He never finished the sentence, sweat gathering at his brow. Static, some panic, and he could hear Malik calling to the others. _"This is an emergency. Eagle has been compromised. I repeat, Eagle is compromised. I'll give you the quickest route to his whereabouts. Wolf, you're closest; how long will it take you to get to him?"_

-=-=-=-

Connor swallowed thickly, holding his father's gaze as he slowly nodded. Do not run off. He knew what Haytham was referring too; he didn't want a repeat of Bali with him taking off after Cutter and Silas like he had, just because the latter might actually be here. And he wouldn't, not again. He'd keep his cool, he would stay in control, he would make sure Haytham's trust in him wasn't misplaced.

“Be careful.” he said softly, watching Haytham until he disappeared around the corner, and took a deep breath before focusing his attention on the corridor ahead of him.

One arrow nocked Connor inched forward, straining his ears for any sign that could warn him of enemies; voices, footsteps, anything. But all he heard were his own muffled steps on the concrete ground and his own breathing, too loud in his ears.

It just made him more aware of how abnormally quiet his surroundings were, and it didn't nothing to ease his apprehension that something was going to happen, and that it was going to be bad.

Most of the doors he tried were locked. Others opened into what appeared to be storage areas, rooms that were of no interest. Nothing noteworthy, just junk and rubble, piles and piles of boxes containing god knows what.

One door opened into what resembled some kind of office or a meeting room, with the only furniture a small round coffee table and a couple of chairs, reasonable comfy looking, but old with cracked and faded leather. Meeting room or not, from the layer of dust Connor could tell it hadn't been used as one in a long time.

More interesting were the half a dozen file cabinets lined along the wall; putting his bow away Connor crossed the room and tugged on one of the drawers, pleased the find it unlocked and pulled it open. It was filled with folders, and a quick browse told him that it might actually hold some valuable information they could use. Names perhaps, or locations. Rapports and other such documents.

Or perhaps it would all turn out to be more old junk.

Pulling out one of the folders Connor flipped it open and frowned, staring at a faded old photo of a young man clipped to a sheet of paper. Clay Kaczmarek, it said, and the more he read, the more he came to realize what it was that he was reading. It said that Clay was taken off the streets in Gdynia, Poland, in 1998 and transported here to the den in Irkutsk.

It also said he was killed in a pit match in 2001.

And there were more, more folders like these, bearing the information of pit dogs long dead. How many names were in here? Did their families know? How many answers to countless of unsolved missing person cases from all over the world were right here in these cabinets?

His hands trembled. Six cabinets, each with five drawers filled to the brim. Hundreds... no, /thousands/ of files... and there was no way he could take it all with him. But he also couldn't walk away empty handed, knowing what he had discovered. This was big.

His hand was already halfway up towards the button of his communicator to inform the others of his findings, when it suddenly buzzed on its own and Malik's voice came through the feed: _"This is an emergency. Eagle has been compromised. I repeat, Eagle is compromised.”_

Whatever was said after that, Connor didn't hear, his eyes blankly staring at the wall as that little piece of information sunk in. Eagle. His father. _Compromised_. What did that mean? Don't tell him that...!

_“Wolf, are you listening?! Where are you?”_

“I... I'm-”

 _“Concentrate, Wolf! Eagle needs you_ now. _Drop whatever you are doing and go back to where you split up, I'll guide you along. You all need to get out of there!”_

He could hear the tremor in Malik's otherwise usually stoic voice, and Connor barely managed to hold a firm grip on his growing panic. It was just like he'd feared; something terrible had happened and now his father was in danger! He'd no time to waste!

Throwing Clay's file on the floor Connor turned on his heel to run back the way he'd came, but he'd barely taken a step before he skidded to a sudden halt again, eyes going white behind his mask.

There was someone standing in the doorway, blocking it with his large frame. Dressed in grey slacks and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and no hair to speak of the man shook his head and chuckled, tutting. “I'm afraid the only way you'll be leaving this place, boy, is down the corpse chute.”

 _French,_ his panicked mind helpfully provided him. Useless information, and yet it was the first thing that popped up the second he heard the man's accent. “Get out of the way!” Connor snarled. He had no time for this! He had to get to Haytham!

“No, can't do. But where are my manners? I apologize. My name is Robert de Sablé. I am the leader of this den, and you will _not_ be ruining my business like you did the others.” Stepping inside the room Robert kicked the door shut with his foot and crossed his arms, seeming completely unconcerned with the various weaponry Connor had strapped on his person, despite appearing unarmed himself. “Connor, right?” he mused. “Silas told me all about you, and your father. The bow gives it away-”

Connor moved, gripping the pistol from his belt and swinging it upwards; he'd never used it before, his bow had never let him down, but he was desperate and he _had no time._ His finger was on the trigger but despite how fast he drew, Robert seemed to have anticipated what he would do, jumping forward and knocking Connor's pistol hand away before he could fire. A fist plowed into his stomach as his pistol clattered away into a corner and Connor doubled over, the wind knocked out of him before a hard kick to his chest sent him sprawling backwards and into the wall.

Robert straightened and cracked his knuckles. “He also said you were a merdique fighter but I believe none of it. Get up.”

Snarling Connor scrambled upright and pulled his tomahawk free, crouching down in a defensive position. “Move! I don't have time for this!”

“Oui, indeed. But the only way to your father is through me, boy. Aller vite! He is running on borrowed time and the clock is ticking.”

That did it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the only part that could still think rationally, Connor knew that charging blindly, without any sort of strategy or a plan, without _focus,_ wouldn't get him anywhere in a one on one fight, let alone lead him to a victory. That was how Cutter had beaten him so easily on that fateful day in Brazil, because he had allowed panic to fuel him and desperation to guide his actions.

Just like he was doing now.

Unarmed as he was, Robert knocked his tomahawk aside before he could land a hit and darted around him, driving his elbow right between his shoulder blades. Connor stumbled forward but quickly regained his footing and whirled around, the sharp metal of his tomahawk flashing in the dim light of the overhead light bulb, but Robert jumped back out of range, still grinning. For such a large man, bigger than he was even, Robert was surprisingly fast and lite on his feet.

Jumping after him Connor raised his tomahawk again. Malik's voice sounded in his ears but he couldn't make out what he was saying. Feigning an attack he suddenly lashed out with his left hand, but Robert grabbed his forearm before his fist could make contact, stopping his momentum with his own strength. His other arm was grabbed and yanked forward, and with a sharp twist that pulled a cry of pain from him Connor was forced to drop his tomahawk.

Hearing it clatter to the ground Connor grit his teeth and flicked his wrist, his hidden blade shooting out of its sheath but he wasn't close enough; the tip stopped mere inches away from Robert's face, who held his arm steady in his grip, arched an eyebrow and leaned back, eyeing the blade. “Magnifique.” he mused with an appreciate grin. “A fine weapon. But it's not enough!”

Robert's knee drove into his abdomen, knocking the breath out of him for the second time, and the world spun as his feet left the floor. Robert threw him down on the coffee table which broke on impact, and Connor's vision exploded in bright white stars as the back of his skull cracked against the ground.

He could only groan, fingers weakly twitching as a booted foot pushed under his side and flipped him onto his stomach. Then, a heavy weight on his lower back and Robert's feet pushed off against the floor on either side of his head. Hands wrapped around his neck and pulled, fingers digging into his throat from behind as his upper body was forced to slowly bend backwards.

His gloved fingers desperately clawed at the hands as he tried to breathe past the death grip on his throat, but all that came out was a rattled wheeze. Spots of lights popped in his vision and his blood roared in his ears with the rhythm of his frantically beating heart and Connor wondered... what would snap first? His spine, or his esophagus? And what about his dad? Dad needed him! He needed to be there at Haytham's side and help him!

And he couldn't.

He could only weakly struggle as the strength drained out of his limbs and his oxygen deprived lungs screamed for air.

-=-=-=-

_"Eagle, can you hear me?"_

"… Y-yes, Lion, I can." He still eyed Silas; the prick was starting to move. He'd enough sense to deploy his taser a second time, listening to Leonardo as Silas flailed about. He need let go, both to touch the communicator and to keep pressure on his injury. 

_"Eagle, can you stand?"_

"I'm uncertain. I'll make the attempt... there's a desk nearby-"

_"Good, okay, try to get to it."_

Skin stretched and muscles screamed, but fingers pulled him, onto his good side, fingers that gripped the chair and used it to right himself, until he slipped and fell, gasping as raw agony coursed through him. Still, he tried once more, managing to get to his knees, then clutching the desk and pushing himself upright. He managed to sit, hat long forgotten on the floor. Salt and paper hung around his damp face, breathes heaving heavily. He leaned, a sack of bricks against the wall, the lethargic lull of his injury overcoming him. "I'm... seated on the desk."

Leonardo watched his vitals fluctuate, heard him panting. _"How is the bleeding, Eagle?"_

"It's been better." 

Dead air. Leonardo rubbed his face, bottom lip caught between his teeth. _"Talk to me, Eagle. Be honest with me, okay?"_

"… yes, Lion. It's... I can feel the tip of the knife in my back. It hasn't struck anything there, but I fear too much movement will change that. The... knife twisted, and the two other wounds are deep. Even with the knife out, it..." So much blood. Slick over gloved fingers, sweat obscuring his vision. 

He heard it then, a small laugh, no matter that Silas lay twitching still. "Y-you're going to die here." Teeth bared into a grin. "You're dead, Haytham. I know it's you, and I can tell you're scared. You're destined for a coffin. Just like your son, just like your cunt wife."

His answer was a snarl of bloodstained teeth. "Shut up. Connor will tear you limb from limb, when he gets here." 

But Silas climbed to his feet, and Haytham was barely able to lift his fingers, to do anything to stop him. He reached for his pistol still strapped to his belt and Silas scrambled for his own, then stopped suddenly, eyeing the hallway and murmuring curses before he fled the room without another word or even a glance back. 

Haytham readied himself, raising his pistol that rapidly gained weight with every second that ticked by, arm shaking with the effort by the time he saw a figure appear in the door. Ezio didn't consider pursuing the other fleeing party, not the moment eyes landed on Haytham. "Eagle!"

"… Falcon." He readied himself to stand, and swayed, the weight of the gun pulling him. Ezio caught on, shaky hands latching onto Haytham's gun and removing it, strapping it to himself.

"Can you walk?" 

"I haven't tried. But wait, the cameras... the hard drive. Get the hard drive, try to get the footage or... destroy it."

"… Eagle, you... we need to get you out of here."

"I know. It's not so bad. Really."

Ezio stared, taking in his hunched form, the rapid rise and fall of his chest and his sweaty pale face, the thoroughly soaked clothes and carpet. "… I'll... get the hard drive, and then, we put... more pressure, okay? More, more pressure and... and we leave. You need a hospital."

A hacking fit caught hold and the tang of copper invaded his mouth. Haytham shivered, rubbing his arms, and Ezio cursed everything under the sun as he worked as fast as he could, packing the hard drive away. Not much he could do about the cameras, nor did he care to, with them all in uniform. 

He lifted Haytham's hat, tucking that away before pressing his hand to his side, only for the man to yelp, then whimper, breaths hitching more as more blood oozed out of the entry wound.

"Madre di Dio!” Ezio cursed as a few more thick drops fell to the floor. “Not bad, huh? This is not bad?!"

Haytham said nothing and rested his head against Ezio's shoulder, gulping and gasping. Ezio stilled, blinking rapidly behind his mask, sniffling once and setting his emotions aside. 

"Arm around my shoulders, okay? I'll walk with you." Much softer now, though vocally strained.

 _"Falcon, be careful, his vitals are wavering and that knife can't dislodge without causing further bleeding."_ Leonardo chimed in helpfully.

The best way would be to carry him, of that they had no doubt, but he couldn't carry Haytham's rifle, the hard drive, and Haytham himself. The moment he tried to set the hard drive down Haytham growled. He settled for the rifle. Untraceable, no serial number. Haytham could get another, and Ezio lifted him, apologizing as he whimpered. Bloody gloves dug into his bicep, his spare hand pressing to his wound. 

"C'mon, you'll be okay. We'll get Altair, and Connor and... and we'll get help. But you have to hang on."

"Where's Wolf?"

"Wolf is held up for some reason. Osprey has gone to assist-"

Haytham tightened, a knot in his arms and started to struggle in Ezio's grip. "Then why are you here?” he snarled. “Go help him!"

"Osprey _is_ helping him- Haytham- I mean, fuck, Eagle, stop!"

"I'll manage on my own! Just... go g-get him." His chest heaved and Haytham leaned against the wall, gripping his side. "Go!"

"Fuck... but if that guy who did this to you comes back you're dead! I'm not leaving!"

"You don't have a choice. I won't cooperate."

Even if Ezio relented and agreed, it was already too late. Footsteps, not many but enough, rapidly neared the room they were in. Grabbing his dual Desert Eagles Ezio ducked just behind the corner and took cover. "That guy from before got back up. We can't even move, so stay put and let me help you!" 

A gun fired and a piece of the door frame blew away. Ezio took quick aim and nailed the guard responsible between the eyes. The room behind him had gone suspiciously silent and Ezio turned to glance over his shoulder, only to watch Haytham visibly sag down against the wall, the concrete stained behind him as he coughed, then gasped, wetly. 

Ezio shook his head, swallowing thickly as he communicated to Leonardo and Malik. "I think he's coughing up blood, what do I do?"

Leonardo and Malik exchanged looks and the latter closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before responding. "Leo, start the car up. Ezio, breathe, deeply. Hold off the guards, I'll check on Osprey and Wolf."

-=-=-=-

The door of the room banged open with enough force it nearly flew out of its hinges. Someone cursed loudly and just like that the pressure on Connor's throat lifted and the heavy weight on his back fell away. Connor flopped face down, unable to do anything but heave for air as the deafening ratatat of an assault rifle sounded next to him.

A yell and a hand shook his shoulder; slowly the loud beeping in his ears cleared away enough to hear his name being called. Opening his eyes Connor looked up in a bleary daze, recognizing Altair even through his blurry vision.

“Don't talk. Just breathe.” Altair's trusty Galil Ace still smoked from the barrel. Robert lay where he had fallen, numerous red stains slowly spreading out all along his shirt. His eyes stared, cold and empty and devoid of life.

Coughing sharply Connor slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. Altair slung his weapon over his shoulder and helped him to his feet, holding him steady until Connor regained his footing. “Thanks...” he wheezed rubbing his throat, wincing at the hoarseness of his own voice and Altair nodded, handing him back his pistol and tomahawk.

“No problem. But we have to go. Falcon is with Eagle.”

Yeah. Ignoring his lightheadedness Connor turned and broke off into a run, with Altair right on his heel, and dashed down the corridor towards the intersection where he and Haytham had split up before. Malik's voice came through and inquired about their whereabouts, Altair answering that they were on their way. Panic bubbled in his gut, threatening to overwhelm him with every second that passed. Further up ahead he could hear gunfire and behind him Altair cursed and readied his rifle.

Someone darted through a door further up ahead and Connor grit his teeth so hard it hurt; he'd recognize Silas from a mile away but there was nothing he could do about him now, no time to chase after the man. He'd promised Haytham he wouldn't.

A few guards were holed up just beyond and Altair aimed his rifle, letting loose another volley of rounds straight into their backs. The men all fell with loud cries of pain that abruptly ended and he and Connor simply leaped over the bodies to where Ezio was still taking cover behind the door.

“Merda, what was taking you guys so long?!” he yelled but Connor ignored it, scooting past him into the room... and his legs nearly gave out beneath him.

It was so much worse than he could have ever imagined. Blood. So much blood, staining kevlar and leather alike. It was on the floor, it was on the wall, it was _everywhere!_ What little he could see of Haytham's skin had taken on a ghastly pale color and his slumped position against the wall reawakened his worst fears like a brick to the face. “DAD!” Falling to his knees next to Haytham Connor reached for him with shaking hands, blinking through the tears that welled up, and it was from this close that he could see the thick handle of a knife, stuck in his father's side.

“Dad, please. Say s-something, anything! Open your eyes, please look at me!” No no no no no, please, this couldn't be true. 

He couldn't lose him too!

-=to be continued=-


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Leonardo so much, you guys have no idea. And I don't even know where they'd all be if he wasn't there to help them out. It wouldn't surprise if Haytham declares one day to be Leo Day. XD He deserves all the love!
> 
> No warnings for this chapter.

Skin prickled yet again, and Haytham forced himself to concentrate on the very familiar voice, close by, yet strangely distant. "Wolf, you should... know better... code names are..." He couldn't force more chatter, slumping forward and pressing his head to Connor's shaking shoulder.  
"None of that. Lad, none of it, alright? It's... bad, but it could be worse. Keep the knife in, until we can't." He'd lost a lot of blood. They needed to move, quickly.

"Connor, pick him up, alright? Ezio, just pull up the rear and I'll take the front." Connor shook beneath his finger tips. Altair swallowed thickly and muffled a curse under his breath. "C'mon Connor, we got this, alright? Quicker he's out, quicker he's in the hospital, the better chance we got. Malik, lead me out, okay? Leo, drive your ass as close as you can to the entrance. We'll need help at the ladder."

 _"Ten four."_ At least Malik sounded less panicked. If anyone could keep a cool head in a situation like this it was him. _"Follow my lead."_

 _"Connor, make sure to talk to him, at all time."_ Leonardo prodded gently. _"Gage how alert he is, ask questions. You can do this."_

Haytham remained slumped over, his head almost lulling as if he was drunk. Even as Connor lifted him, he barely moved.

Altair took the lead, following Malik's instruction and leading them out of the room and back towards the vacant parlor. There was no time to think about whoever still remained inside the den; more guards, the patrons... nor how they would be leaving again, so long as they didn't do it through here. Pulling the hatch open with a grunt Altair glanced at the slumped over form of their leader in Connor's arms.

"Haytham, you with us? Aye, c'mon, Haytham."

"... Apologies." Every step, no matter how light Connor proceeded, brought whit hot scorching pain from his gut to chest. Red hot dots danced in front of his vision and all the words said, all the questions asked blurred together.

The president? Uh, Barack Obama.

His birthday? Uhm...

"December fourth?" Fingers gripped a thick bicep and he eyed the hatch with some recognition but everything was... hazy... Thinking was hard. It felt like he was submerged perhaps in water, or trapped in thick fog. Leonardo had asked him something, hadn't he? But what... had it been...

 _"Haytham!"_

" Yes?" 

Malik winced at Haytham's tone. far too calm and meek. _"The president, Haytham. Who's the president?"_

He breathed out slowly, brows knitting. " It... I... Malik, I don't know... I just... I dunno..." Warm. He was so cold, and Connor, Connor was... warm. Always, his big furnace, his big, shaky furnace. He could fall asleep to that heart thrumming beneath his ear.

"Connor, hand him to me, okay? " Altair knelt and glanced down at the van Leonardo had parked right beneath the ladder. "We can drop him just a bit, onto the hood. I'm gonna get his legs, hold his arms."

"Mm, 'swarm like this." Haytham slurred, nestling further into Connor's arms.

"Yeah, I bet. But the hospital will be warmer, and we hafta get you there." So much strain in his throat, breath hitching as he caught a glimpse of Connor's clothes soaked in his own blood, and the trail they'd left behind.

Fuck.

Altair jumped, harder then necessary onto my hood, a few feet down.

"Connor, let's hurry, let's really fucking hurry, man."

-=-=-=-

It was as if he worked on full auto pilot. It was hard to think, or to concentrate on anything other than getting Haytham the help he needed as soon and efficiently as possible. The panic was still there, brewing in the back of his mind and pushing ever forward, but somehow he kept it at bay.

He couldn't succumb to it now, not until they were safely in the hospital.

Connor slid down the ladder as Altair held Haytham steady. Ezio followed, but not before throwing every single smoke bomb he carried on his person into the parlor before closing the hatch, to stave off any possible pursuers.

Jumping off the hood of the car Connor took his father back into his arms just as the door slid open and Leonardo beckoned them in. “Inside, quickly! Place him down here. You take the wheel, Altair; get us out of here!”

“But I don't know where the hospital is!” He slipped behind the wheel nonetheless after tossing his weapon in the corner, the engine already running.

“I'll map a route.” Malik said as he sat in the passenger seat and reached for the navigator. Leonardo was already hard at work, an opened med kit sitting on the floor next to him as he tried to cut through the kevlar surrounding the wound. “Talk to me about your company, Haytham.” he said gently, despite the tremble in his voice as he grabbed a pair of scissors. “Even if I already know about it, just tell me. How... what made you want to start a company on your own? Try to remember. Ezio, help me get this off.”

He felt so useless. Altair drove and Malik guided him. Ezio helped Leonardo, who did everything he could to help Haytham.

And he? He just _sat_ there, staring and shaking, faintly aware of the blood that still coated his hands. His goggles and mask had been carelessly thrown into a corner – honestly he didn't even remember taking them off – and his hair clung to his face. His throat hurt whenever he swallowed and the back of his head throbbed, and yet he didn't care. He didn't care about any of that, he didn't care about the information he'd found in that room, right now he didn't even care about the pit dogs they'd left behind.

It wasn't important anymore. 

“L-leonardo.” he whispered, voice hoarse and he waited for the other to look up from his work, using a bloodied hand to brush strands of blond out of his face. 

“H-how...?” How bad was it? Connor knew it was an incredibly stupid question, but it was the only question he dared ask. Leonardo's eyes softened and his lips pressed together in a thin line. He knew the question Connor didn't dare to ask but wanted an answer to nonetheless.

Will he make it?

-=-=-=-

"It's... it's important we remain positive." Leonardo prodded Haytham, gently. "Your company, Haytham, why was it formed?”

But all he received were a few hazy blinks, Ezio having removed his mask moments before. Bloodied lips moved suddenly, as he pushed out the words. 

"William, Thomas, Benjamin... uh, John, and... Charles. We... we formed it but I... two doctors but no one wanted Benjamin. They said I should because of..." He shook his, eyes falling shut. "I don't remember. I'm exhausted."

"I know you are, Haytham. But you can't sleep just yet, okay?" Where was the duffle bag? Ezio found it, moments later, and Leonardo removed Haytham's boots, pulling down the Kevlar below his wound.  
"I have to put you in civilian clothes, okay?" Leonardo bit his lip as Haytham barely managed a nod. "Do you know why?"

"No mentioning dens to police."

"Yes, good. Very good. You were... traveling around Baikal on vacation, and went out one night. Someone... maybe tried to rob you, how about that?"

"Yes. Yes tried to rob... why would they...?"

"Because you're a billionaire, Haytham."

"Oh.''

Leonardo finished dressing him from the waist down and turned to Ezio. "How much blood did he lose?"

"I don't know. It... when I got there he was already bleeding heavily. But he was more talkative, even fighting me when I told him Connor needed assistance too. He became lethargic soon after."

"It's a guess, but it looks like about a liter and a half of blood right now." Waxen, so pale. Eyes remained glossy, his breathing so shallow Leonardo barely saw his chest rise. "Guys, how much longer?"

"Ten minutes-"

As much as it pained him to say, Leonardo turned his head. "He doesn't _have_ ten minutes. We've got maybe six. His pulse is fading, his blood pressure is dropping-"

"Fuck, okay! Alright... fuck, someone hold him down or something."

He'd already been speeding, taking the van to the point of breakingand watching the speedometer hover on max and beyond. What little traffic existed was dodged in a blur of flashing lights. "I can do it in three, how about that? Three minutes?"

"Yes, yes we... we'll work with three." His attention was back on Haytham, Ezio handing him a clean shirt but Leonardo hesitated, looking up at Connor.

"Get changed, quickly while I find something to cut the shirt with. We can't all go into the hospital, and we cannot leave you at the entrance. You'll have to carry him, and you need a story to tell police when they question you. Do you understand, Connor?" Connor did not handle stress well, but for Haytham sake, Leonardo hoped he would.

-=-=-=-

Connor blinked and nodded. “Y-yes. Fabricate a story. Got it.” That he could do. Scrambling to his feet Connor reached for his clothes, unfolding his sweater with one hand as he yanked on the laces of his boots with the other.

Altair was driving like mad, making the car jerk around left and right, and more than once Connor nearly lost his footing. He didn't bother with socks, wrenching his sneakers onto his feet as Altair raced around a corner and pulled to a stop near a dark alleyway, turning around in his seat. “We're about a block away from the hospital, in that direction.”

Close enough.

Ezio still kept pressure on the wound, the rag he was using soaked through with blood, and the moment he pulled it away it began bleeding again, sluggishly dripping down Haytham's side and staining the fresh shirt they'd put on him.

“We'll return to the hotel.” Leonardo answered as he helped Ezio to hold him steady so that Connor could wrap his jacket around him. “We'll get changed and meet you in the hospital later. Pretend you called us.”

Connor nodded as he slung Haytham's arm around his shoulder and lifted him up into his arms. Haytham barely reacted to it, his head merely lulled to the side to rest against his shoulder. Ezio opened the door of the van and Connor jumped out, the freezing cold of a Siberian night slamming into him, cutting through his sweater as if he wasn't even wearing one..

No matter. He was already running as fast as he could as the van's door slammed shut behind him and screeching tires signaled it's departure. The freezing cold burned his lungs with every breath he took and still he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. “Stay awake, dad!” he panted as he entered the hospital's parking lot, the entrance just up head. “Don't give up yet! We're almost there!” 

-=-=-=-

The tingling faded. His head didn't hurt anymore but it was light, like the rest of him. Everything felt so light. He'd floated on lakes, and it was much the same, except he heard less now. As if he was floating, yet under water. It was all so dim, a world of muted sounds. 

_They're worried._ His mind suggested, helpfully. 

_Why?_

_Because you're dying._

Eyes fluttered, watching the doors of the van close. The running hurt. Connor was rather fast for one so big. Why was he running? Oh, it was because of all that blood, wasn't it? Haytham raised his bare hand, his fingers coated a dark red. It was true. He was dying.

"Connor?" So distant and muffled. Had he spoken at all? He must have, his son's eyes on his now. Puffy, watery eyes. Oh, Connor. 

"I'm sorry." For what, he wasn't sure. Certainly for making him cry, but he couldn't help that. But Connor was warm, and was carrying him. Connor was scared though. But why? He'd forgotten why.

"It isn't agonizing anymore. Just cold." So very, very cold. There was a tingling sound, little bells perhaps, or tiny wind chimes. Connor was still running. Such a good lad. Haytham found a spot, between his chest and shoulder. Thump, thump, thump. Against his ear, his heart outdid the bells.

"Connor... I'm..." What was he going to say? He wasn't so sure. There were lights now flashing overhead, bright words in another language. Just in reach. He couldn't make them out.

"I'm sorry." But what for? So many things, but none stood out, so it must be for a lot. "Sorry for everything. All of it. Everything that happened. I should have been better. I was not. I... was wrong a lot and I'm sorry for that."

Now Connor was crying. Haytham didn't understand. It didn't make sense. Blood stained fingers wavered but brushed Connors cheek, leaving behind a red trail on dark skin. He'd upset Connor. Idiot. That's not what he wanted. Haytham felt his own eyes water. When they fluttered shut they gathered around his lashes, and fell down his cheeks. 

"Don't cry. I love you." Brown widened, and Haytham smiled, warmer now. Yes, that was it. That's what he wanted to say. He remembered now. They were inside, and there were lights, and noises, all blurring together. He murmured, fingers stroking Connor's jaw.

"It's all right. I love you, so very much, Connor, and it's all... it's all right..." Dark around the edges of his vision, slowly spreading out to engulf him. He muttered something he couldn't make out, shivering uncontrollably as his fingers slipped from Connor's cheek and fell down to his side, dripping blood onto the pristine white tile.

-=-=-=-

No no, don't apologize. It was too early for him to apologize and Connor didn't want to hear it. The tears left hot trails on his face and blurred his vision until he could barely see where he was going, merely running into the direction of the bright lights that adorned the hospital's entry way.

There were so many things he wanted to say. So much he still had to tell Haytham and now... this could very well be the last moment he would ever get, his last chance, and the words wouldn't come to him. All he could think about was that Haytham's survival depended on him getting him inside that hospital in time because if he couldn't...

He couldn't fail his father. The mere thought of being forced to live a single day without him was too painful to even bare, painfully twisting his insides whenever it bubbled up. A life without Haytham was a life he didn't want to live.

His legs almost gave out on him as the three words he'd longed to hear reached his ears, wrenching a pained choked sob from Connor as he forced his body to run faster. No this wasn't the right time! Haytham had made him a promise, to tell him once their business in Russia was concluded. This was too soon, and it _wasn't_ all right!

_You promised, dad!_

He barely paid any mind to the people crowding the hospital's lobby when he finally ran inside and skidded to a halt near the counter, harshly panting for breath as he frantically looked around for a nurse, a doctor, anyone! “I N-NEED HELP, PLEASE!” he screamed, uncaring that they might not even speak English, but various men and women in white hospital uniforms crowded him within seconds, hands reaching for Haytham and pulling him out of his arms as a nurse brought a bed near. Orders were given in Russian and the bed was wheeled away towards the ICU, various doctors and nurses rushing after it with tubes, blood bags and a crash cart.

Connor tried to follow but one of the women held up a hand and stopped him. She asked something, but Connor couldn't make out what it was, or whether it was even spoken in Russian or English; his eyes were on the doors they'd wheeled his father through and knew... _knew_... that it was very much possible he'd just seen Haytham alive and breathing for the last time.

He was left to wait, alone in the lobby of an unknown hospital, half a world away from home, and the panic he'd so struggled to keep at bay all that time finally broke through. Sagging against the wall Connor slid down to the floor and covered his mouth with his hands, trying to breathe through the sobs that wracked his body as the copper scent of blood that still stained his fingers filled his nostrils.

Haytham had to be okay. He _had_ to survive. Please god, he would do anything, please; Haytham had to _live._

-=-=-=-

What happened?

It was the message everyone tried to convey, and prompted Connor. English speaking staff met with him, and asked almost immediately, but the shaking man could offer no explanation, either than the obvious. Stabbed, his father was stabbed. It was the only sensible thing they could get out of him. For now it would suffice, but only until law enforcement arrived to make a report. 

One such nurse found herself an arms pace away, eyeing the blood soaked clothes, the constant stream of tears. All she could do was offer tissues, and of course, to let him use a shower. But he didn't seem ready, not by the way he shook. She'd finally gotten a name from him, and he'd mentioned there were people, friends, on the way, and she was more than relieved when a small group of men stumbled into the lobby and frantically looked around as if looking for someone. 

She stood up and waved them over. "Are you looking for Connor?" Her accent was a touch thick, but they all rushed over, four gentlemen, the smallest of which quickly knelt in front of Connor.

"We came as soon as we heard. Are you hurt?" Connor didn't respond to Leonardo immediately, but he took no offense. Honestly, he'd expected as much.

"Connor, maybe we should get you changed and cleaned up, si?" Ezio knelt beside Leonardo, but he didn't have much in terms of results either. To be expected. Connor was covered in blood, eyes on the floor as he trembled still, his breathing shaky and hitching. 

"Do any of you know what happened?” the nurse asked. “I understand Connor called to say it was an emergency. Do you know what happened? Law enforcement will be here to ask shortly, it... may be better if someone stays with him."

"I'll talk to 'em." 

All sets of eyes drifted to Altair, and he shrugged. "What? You make it like people don't know who this kid is." He jabbed his thumb in Connor's direction, chewing vigorously on his gum. "This kid's Connor fucking Kenway, alright? He's been targeted by crazies in the past, he's a trauma victim, alright? Ya know what trauma victims do when they experience more trauma? They lash out or shut down. That's it. Obviously, he's a little out of commission and chose option two, and he's not gonna be helpful, to anyone, at all. I don't think he remembers his own birthday right now, let alone who stabbed his dad, what the person looked like, what the name of the street was, and whatever the fuck useless questions are gonna come from this. So, unless they wanna traumatize the son of Haytham Kenway more, which, by the way, really _bad_ idea, they should probably wait until way, way the fuck later. Like until our dad is tip top."

No one said anything at the 'our dad' comment, though Ezio shared a look with Leonardo.

The nurse frowned, offering a sympathetic look. "I cannot guarantee Mr. Kenway's outcome. From what we do know, he's lost almost two liters of blood-" She was paged, suddenly, and muttered an apology, leaving them and heading to trauma.

Altair watched the double doors swing closed, and turned to Malik. "Gum me, please."

For once, he didn't argue, handing over another piece of nicotine laced gum. Altair chewed, thoroughly, before whistling abruptly. "Connor, I ain't asking, alright? Ya don't have to like it, but ya need to get changed." He dropped the duffle bag he carried on the ground and kicked it over. "Baby wipes and clothes. You'll catch your-...fuck me, you'll get fucking sick, alright? And we need ya, we need ya here, with us. You can cry or break shit or whatever you need to do, I don't care, but you need to be _here._ "

"He is right, Connor." Leonardo interjected softly. "We'll all be here, staying in shifts. And, we thought... perhaps we should call William? To let him know what happened?"

-=-=-=-

Connor finally reacted and slowly raised his head, blinking. William. Yes, they should... let him know. He deserved to know, even if he wasn't talking to them anymore.

He didn't struggle as Ezio gently pulled him to his feet and held him steady. “Let's get you cleaned up, eh amico?” Taking the duffle bag in one hand, the other still curled around Connor's, Ezio led his friend along and followed after another female nurse, who showed them to an empty room they could use.

Ezio thanked her and closed the door, setting the bag on the empty bed and zipped it open. He wouldn't tell Connor it would be all right; he wasn't that naive and he knew his friend was the same. They were all aware of the risks involved, they'd all accepted that something like this could happen.

But to have it actually happen right in front of you, to find Haytham lying in a pool of his own blood... nothing could prepare for a moment like that. Haytham's chances were slim and they had to stay realistic, and accept that they might have gotten him to the hospital too late, despite their best efforts.

And with Haytham gone it was unlikely they'd be able to continue what they were doing. He was their leader and he couldn't be replaced. If Haytham died, then so did their mission, so would their wish for vengeance, and the hope of freeing those still trapped inside the remaining dens.

It would all end.

_You're thinking too far ahead. He's not dead yet!_

Lips pressed into a thin line Ezio waited for Connor to finish undressing, watching him peel the blood stained sweater off with slow, lethargic movements, and grimaced. The bloodied clothes were stuffed inside a plastic bag to be discarded later.

Connor muttered a soft thank-you and accepted the baby wipes; he could have taken a shower, the nurse had offered after all, but he preferred not to. Not here, in the hospital. He wanted to be ready to move the second someone came to them with news about his father's condition, and he didn't want to be caught standing under the spray and unable to leave.

The baby wipes would have to do. It took a while to clean the blood off his hands and chest where it had soaked right through the material of his clothes, emptying nearly the whole box before he was done. Ezio handed him a turtleneck shirt and a hoodie and Connor accepted it gratefully, pulling the collar up to hide the hand shaped bruises on his throat, and the hood down over his head.

… you'd think he'd feel a bit better, no longer stained with his father's blood... but he didn't. He just felt... numb. Empty. Today had been so trying, all his energy was gone and his reserves drained. His eyes hurt from all the tears, his head was pounding and his throat felt thick. That was only partly thanks to Robert. He was exhausted, he wanted to sleep, to go _home_... all six of them, alive.

Leonardo had gotten them all coffee when they returned, coffee Connor accepted but otherwise ignored with a wordless nod, merely holding the warm paper cup in his hands as he sat down in a chair. He was aware of all the eyes on him, the worried glances; he'd barely said a thing ever since Haytham had been wheeled off to the ICU. Honestly, he was afraid to open his mouth, because if he did he just might start screaming and yelling. Or throw up.

Fishing out his phone he browsed down his contact list until he found William's number but once there, he hesitated. The last time he'd called William, it had ended in disaster. That call, well meant as it had been, had eventually led to William screaming at him and his father both, before storming out and taking Myriam with him.

How was he supposed to explain this? How was he to tell William that Haytham was in the hospital halfway across the globe and could die at any second, because they'd gone into another den and their worst nightmare had come true? How-

“Connor?”

He looked up with bleary eyes and Leonardo managed a sad little smile before gesturing at the phone in his hands. “If you want... I can make the call and tell him.”

A thick swallow and Connor nodded, handing the phone over. Leonardo took it and sat down next to him, one hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently as he tapped William's name and raised the phone to his ear.

-=-=-=-

Sharing a bite with Thomas had become a favorite passed time, no matter how often he found himself rubbing his temples at the others antics.

"The fuck is 'at?"

"Teppanyaki."

"No shit, I mean that blighted lookin' ugly fuckin' thing."

"… it's cabbage."

"Ya double ordered _cabbage?_ "

"Excuse me for wanting to live to see sixty, Mister 'double meat, double rice, double beer'." Blue twinkled mischievously. "Thomas the tubby, that's what they'll call you."

"Fuck you, I'm perfect." And up went the session shirt in true Thomas fashion, fingers pointing to his abs. "See this shit? That's legit grade A man, ya daft old fuck."

A comment at the ready, William hesitated as his phone buzzed in his pocket, expecting to see Myriam's name flashing on the screen. Instead, he stared, curious. 

Thomas quipped, his mouth full of chicken: "The fuck is it?"

"Connor."

"Well then, fuckin' answer it, I 'avent spoken to 'im in ages."

William sighed, stroking the screen before accepting the call. "Hi, Connor. You're on speaker, Thomas is here." 

_"Mi dispiace, but it's Leonardo, actually."_ He squeezed Connor's hand. _"I'm with Connor but he can't talk right now."_

"Tell that big fuck imma wrestle him t' the ground when I see 'im. Huge that one."

_"Were circumstances different, I would."_

"Leonardo, what's wrong?" Stiff as William was, he could recognize the stress in his tone. "Is Connor alright?"

 _"No, but this is concerning Haytham."_ Leonardo sighed, voice shaky. There was no easy way to deliver this kind of news. _"We were on a trip to Lake Baikal in Russia and uhm, he wanted to take Connor out, show him around."_ He licked his lips. He'd never been great a lying, but he hoped he sounded more convincing then he felt.

_"Haytham was stabbed by a mugger. It's bad-"_

"How bad?" Silence on the other end. William swallowed, and asked again. "How bad?"

_"… he's in ICU. From what Connor told me, it sounds like it was near exsanguination. Haytham was unconscious on arrival. Several stabs to the liver, and we don't know how bad it is, or... or if he'll live as of yet."_

Silence, and Leonardo said nothing for a moment, allowing the inflation to sink in. William's voice was tight when he finally responded, Thomas listening on silently, food all but forgotten.

"Which airport is closest to where you are? Do you know?"

_"Yes, I can get you that information-"_

"I'll get it from you in a moment, can I speak to Connor?"

Leonardo shrugged, eyeing Connor's profile. _"I don't think he's in a talking mood."_

"That's all right. Just tell him I'm coming on the next available flight."

"Shit, and tell 'em I'm going too." Thomas shrugged. "Ugly John will have this covered."

 _"I'll relay the same. Thank you."_

The line disconnected and Leonardo lowered the phone, handing it back to Connor as he spoke. "William and Thomas will be here on the next available flight. It'll probably take them a day or so, they are in the states and will have layovers."

"It's good of them to come. Especially William." Malik noted, eyeing the double doors leading to ICU. It was late, and they'd he there all night. It was a countdown until they heard something, and who knew how long that would be.

-=-=-=-

They really were flying over? Connor nodded, despite having mixed feelings about it all. Of course William was coming over; fight or not, Haytham is... was, or had been Haytham's best friend. But there would come a moment where they would have to tell William the real reason as to why Haytham was committed to the ICU in Russia of all places. He would ask. He would guess that they weren't here, all six of them, to play tourist.

Hell, William _knew_ that they'd been planning a raid here in Russia, and he must know that Leonardo was only spinning a story because they were in a public space and because Thomas had been present to hear the conversation.

So they waited.

And waited.

A doctor came to them eventually, but the man still couldn't tell them whether Haytham was going to make it or not. Just that he needed more blood because he'd lost so much, and if any of them knew if they happened to share the same blood type and were willing to donate.

What a stupid question.

Connor immediately jumped out of his seat, his first real response ever since he'd carried his father in here. They all knew each others blood type. What with what they were doing it was important information to know, and he and Haytham happened to be sharing the same one. Malik also raised his hand, stating he was more than willing to donate should they still need more.

That's how Connor found himself back with the others an hour later, a bandage tightly wrapped around the crook of his elbow as he lay on a bed in a separate room. He felt a little light headed, dizzy whenever he moved his head too fast; he'd donated as much as he could, kept urging the nurses to keep the needle in just a little bit longer, he could take it, he could handle a bit more, until they almost had to force him to accept that enough was enough.

And so the waiting game began anew.

Sunrise was nearly upon them when they finally received the news they'd been waiting for, one of the doctors who'd done surgery on Haytham approaching them in the wee hours of the morning. He was alive, he told them, and he was stable... for now. It had been a very close call, and the only reason why Haytham still lived was because the knife had _just_ missed a major artery; the bleeding came from a hepatic vein that had been nearly severed in two separate places. He was extremely fortunate to have made it so far, as this kind of injury still had a very high mortality rate. And that was why he wasn't out of the woods just yet.

They were allowed to see him, but only for a few minutes, and Connor thought it was almost worse than what he had seen inside the den. Still and pale, an oxygen mask on his face and wires and tubes sticking out of him, hooked up to so many machines he didn't even know where to begin looking.

It was a horrid sight, one that would haunt him, and still... it was saving his life. It put his mind at ease just a little.

They left after that and returned to their hotel, Leonardo insisting he take a shower, eat something and get some sleep, even if it was just for an hour. They would go back to the hospital, but no moment sooner. “You're no good to Haytham dead on your feet with exhaustion, Connor. Try to get some sleep.”

As if he could.

Or so he thought. Sleep came surprisingly easy to him after a quick shower, his body so in need of rest not even the images that plagued his mind could keep it at bay. Malik woke him a few hours later, coffee and two sandwiches in a paper bag in hand for him to take.

Back to the hospital.

Back to more waiting, however long it took.

-=-=-=-

It was an awful waiting game, William knew as much, as did Thomas and Myriam. 

He vaguely wondered if it was alright to bring them both, not that he'd a choice. Myriam missed Connor, and much like him, expected this was unrelated to a robber. Not that he'd voice such to Thomas. No, the Kenway and company secret was safe. For now. 

It was hardly the time to consider it or anything else for that matter. As warm as they packed, it wasn't quite warm enough.

Leonardo picked them up from the airport, bringing them to the hotel room to drop off their things before taking them to the hospital. Haytham was still unconscious, but done receiving transfusions.

Thomas whistled as Leonardo explained the procedures that had been done on him during the surgery: eighteen units of blood, four bags of platelets, a machine that took over the function of his heart and lungs as they packed his liver to stop the bleeding before suturing it shut. He was still on watch for any signs of necrotic upturn. William could only blink at the pictures they were shown, Myriam letting out a little crushed sound. 

"And they don't know if he's going to be okay?" Her eyes glistened.

"Well, he is out of Intensive Care, currently in Critical.” Leonardo answered. “It's difficult, since he's both low on blood and will have a heavily restricted diet." Leonardo licked his lips as he looked around for a place to park the car.  
"He woke up a few times, but for no more than a minute or so. He just looks around, drinks, and falls back to sleep. We tried talking to him once but he seemed confused. They say it's due to the amount of blood lost. He might not remember the attack or anything after."

"How much did he lose?" William pondered.

"Just shy of two liters."

Thomas whistled. "Fuckin' shit."

Leonardo nodded, parking quickly. "Connor could use some company, he'll be glad to see you three. He's the one who carried Haytham into the hospital, he took it hard."

They followed Leonardo inside and signed in at the lobby, taking the elevator to floor three. It was pristine, all glimmering white walls and bleach scented. Haytham had a room to himself, not that he knew it.

He was no longer on a ventilator, an IV and catheter apparent, and William stared at the waxen, thinning face of his friend before turning his attention to Connor and Ezio, who sat next to the bed like two guard dogs keeping a careful watch on their master.

He didn't say anything, hand falling over Connor's shoulder and squeezing. Myriam was more vocal, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and kissing the side of his face. "I'm so sorry, Connor. I'm so, so sorry."

-=-=-=-

Connor leaned into the hug, eyes closing as his arm wound Myriam's back and he breathed in her perfume. He hadn't expected to see her here but he was glad for it nonetheless. Glad to see all three of them, even William.

“Good ta see ya, Connor.” Thomas shook his head, clasping it in a tight grip and Connor nodded. “Still huge as always. Stop growin' already, ya're makin' us fellas look bad.”

Heh.

“Can I get anyone something to drink?” Leonardo piped in. “The coffee here is actually quite decent.”

William shook his head. “No thank you, I'm good.”

“Tea for me, please.”

“Yah, I'll have some. Coffee.”

Leonardo nodded and quietly left the room. There were enough chairs for all of them and Connor took his seat again right next to Haytham's bed, in reach of his hand, Ezio taking a seat on his other side. He still found it difficult to look at William but he knew the man wouldn't say or ask anything of _that_ nature with Thomas present.

He'd never seen Haytham with stubble before, yet there it was, clear as day. Were the situation different, he might even like how it looked on him. Right now though, it just looked wrong, like so many other things.

An awkward silence fell over the room, fortunately broken when Leonardo reentered the room a short moment later, carrying a small tray in his hands with Myriam's tea and Thomas' coffee. If anyone saw Thomas slip a quick squirt into his coffee of what appeared to be whiskey or scotch from a small bottle tiny enough to fit into his pocket, they didn't say anything about it.

“So,” he began, taking a quick sip. “Any idea on when 'e'll be gettin' out?”

“Not anytime soon, I'm afraid.” Dragging another chair over Leonardo sat down as well, nursing his own tea as he glanced to Haytham's still form on the bed. “Who knows how long it will take for him to wake up even, let alone be allowed to leave the hospital.”

“Knowing dad he'll want to fly back to London the second he's out, even if he's not well enough for it yet.” Sighing Connor reached out for Haytham's limp hand, using the other to tug the collar of his turtle neck up – the bruises Robert had left on his throat had faded but they were still visible and he didn't need William, Myriam nor Thomas to see them. “He's stubborn like that...”

“Aye, that 'e is.” Thomas mused and raised his paper cup in a salute. “Wouldn't be 'Aytham if 'e wasn't stubborn like a donkey's ass.”

-=-=-=-

"That he is." William concurred, the charming twinkle normally observed painfully absent. It was quiet for the most part, with the occasional nurse checking in. Haytham stirred, briefly, enough to make a pained sound, to mutter something intelligible, and to fall back to sleep.

Aftercare would be a must. Medications, physical therapy. It could take a year before Haytham could return to all of his usual activities, though William wished he'd give up a certain one. 

One he waited to bring up, until Thomas and Myriam were out of the room, Ezio in the process of getting dinner.

"Connor?" Whispered, yet it cut the air. William's expression was oddly neutral, just a hint of something sad. "What happened?" Before Connor could speak, William eyed their surroundings, then requested in earnest, "What _really_ happened? You can tell me. I think you know I've an inkling of what happened, yes?"

-=-=-=-

Connor swallowed thickly, his lower lip disappearing between his teeth and he glanced over his shoulder, then quickly stood up and closed the door. There was the question he'd been both anticipating and dreading to hear... but he wouldn't beat around the bush with it.

William already knew the truth, there was no sense in lying. “He wasn't mugged.” His hand fell away from the doorknob to hang down his side, and he offered a helpless shrug, eyes looking at everything but William. “There's a den near lake Baikal, but inside we got separated and... they _knew_ we were there. They knew.”

His hand suddenly clenched into a fist, nails digging into the fleshy pad of his palm and he blinked, rapidly, eyes beginning to burn. “Silas was there as well.” He turned then and Connor's dark eyes finally landed on William; his fists trembled and shook, and while his eyes wetly gleamed with unshed tears, there was no denying the anger and pain brewing within. “Silas _did_ this to him... and I _had_ to let him go.”

Teeth grit and eyes averted once more, and just like that Connor's shoulders slumped and all the tension drained out of him. The chair creaked as he all but flopped back down into it and leaned back, fingers rubbing his temple as he stared at the slow rise and fall of Haytham's chest, and quietly muttered: “And he knows it was us...”

-=-=-=-

That just left more questions, but William shoved them aside. "They know who you are? That... that is..." Not good. Not the most eloquent way to address the issue, but it was not good in the least.

"They may know where you reside then. And perhaps your current location, unless they're convinced Haytham expired. You're all in danger." Cheeks puffed as he exhaled, shaking his head. "Please talk sense into him, Connor. This is the potential outcome for all of you, and at this point... if you persist, it's a matter of _time._ Do you get that?" William's gulp was visible, a shaky hand running through his hair. 

"I do not want to watch this, Connor. You should not have to live in fear. It's a lot to ask, and I know you're stubborn, so is he. But for his sake, at least consider the conversation so you've a chance of growing older together, and living life as it should be lived, in relative peace."

-=-=-=-

Connor said nothing.

William's concern was well-placed, no doubt about that, and it wasn't like there was no truth behind his words. But it was something they already knew and had talked about in great length before. 

Even so, things were different now. He didn't want to give up on this – they could be _so_ close to finishing this for good... but they would have to talk about how to go from here. All of them. He had no doubt that Silas would warn everyone involved with the dens about them, and most likely he already had.

This had become a lot more dangerous... but was stopping really an option? If any of the others wanted to stop, they could, they had every right to. But Connor knew he couldn't, and he knew neither could Haytham if he made a full recovery.

Hearing Thomas' voice echo through the hallway laughing about something Ezio had said, Connor drew his legs up and closed his eyes. “I don't want to talk about it now. I... later. We'll talk about it later...”

~*~

William, Myriam and Thomas rented rooms in the same hotel as them, determined to at least stay until Haytham regained consciousness, and go from there. Unbeknownst to the three of them Altair had gone back to the site of the den with Ezio and returned with disturbing news; the place had been evacuated and there was no sign of the pit dogs, no bodies, nothing.

All that remained were vacant offices, an abandoned bar, empty cages, a pit with red sand, blood on the floor and bullet holes in the walls. All the computers were gone, all the old files, anything that could provide information on the den and its inner workings. What was left behind was a ruin, containing nothing but nightmares and horrible memories.

Another den out of the running... but their victory was hollow.

Four days had passed since Haytham's stabbing. Connor once again sat in the chair next to Haytham's bed, waiting for that moment he would wake up. He'd never known waiting to be this exhausting; he sat slumped backwards, head lulling to the side, his hands resting next to Haytham's on the bed. His fingers twitched in his sleep, brows scrunching together as the occasional soft snore left him.

-=-=-=-

William let the subject pass, if only for the time. There was too much at stake to press Connor further. He needed time to focus on his father. William could respect that and let it be.

Connor spent the most time in the hospital, though really, everyone visited daily. It was a grueling surgery, the rate of mortality shockingly high. Leonardo explained to them what had been done; a cardiopulmonary bypass, where a machine took over the function for his lungs and heart during his surgery, filtering blood as Haytham was too weak to do so himself. Hypothermic circulator arrest- as Leonardo explained- was when they'd cooled him with ice, packing the surrounding area to minimize the bleed, packing the wound itself before suturing the severed veins in the right lobe of his liver. The surgery lasted for hours, and even after Connor's donation, Malik's blood was needed. 

That he survived at all was miraculous. More often than not, patients with hepatic injuries expired. Maybe the hospital staff were that good. Maybe it was because he was Haytham Kenway, and it demanded the best care. Never the less, it was rendered, a heater at his side and thick blankets pulled to his chest.

Morphine dripped steadily through the IV taped to Haytham's arm. His hair lay loose, the one remaining contact removed from his eye after surgery. The respirator left him two days after, but the heart rate monitor remained attached, as did his catheter. The wound on his side itched, redressed and swollen, though fortunately it hadn't gotten infected. A bruise spanned the entire right of his abdomen, an angry purple splotch that screamed painful. And in the middle, three lacerations, two at an angle and one thicker, requiring staples and stitches where the knife twisted. 

Haytham of course didn't know any of this, nor did he particularly care just yet. All his tired brain could register was an uncomfortable pull and itch, doing his best to ignore it for several moments before eyes snapped open.

Fingers brushed the bandage, stilling as pain blossomed. He grimaced, no longer interested in the itch, though rather curious nonetheless. It was hard to focus. That cloud like state still engulfed him, but it was different now; much more painful, much more hazy, and Haytham angled his head slowly, eyeing his surroundings, drawn curtains offering the view of sad sky draped in gray.

Oh, but it was snowing. Lips twitched, and he grunted, making use of the remote by his bed so he was upright. Flurries danced in a gust of wind, scattering about, just like his thoughts. He blinked several times, attempting to grasp them, but they slipped away as quickly as they came.

They were at a den. He'd been stabbed. Fingers brushed the dressing again, and he hissed, but curiosity won in the end as he shifted and lifted his gown.

Even with the bandages he could see the bruising, purple mocking his failure and causing a grimace. Silas, yes that was it. He'd stabbed him, and Haytham tased him in return. Then there was blood, and panic. Connor arrived and carried him some but... to what end? He could recall a ladder, and mumbled voices but the rest fell away with the flurries, leaving Haytham no wiser, with a furrowed brow and a parched throat. 

The den. He'd ruined it, hadn't he? Lips pressed to a thin line, gaze drifting from the window, to the off television, and further still until they landed on a certain source of gentle noise.

He listened, lashed fluttering shut. He could remember Connor, carrying him. For how long and to what end, he couldn't say. He stilled, watching him breathe, recalling the lull of his son's heart beneath his ear. 

He watched Connor's head lull to the side as he shifted in his sleep, his hands so very close to Haythams. Perhaps he could leave him be. He shook his head some, and tried to chase away the urge to sleep. How long had he been unconscious? Did they return to the den without him? How did they manage to get him to the hospital, and just what surgery did he receive?

The questions lingered, though more as concepts that thoughtfully worded ideas. Well, Haytham tried to close his eyes for a moment, and found himself still awake. 

Hm. His lad could probably use the rest. Yet as moments ticked by, Haytham knew he'd wake him. It was impossible not to, he'd so many questions, and at the very least had slept for almost a full day, judging by the sun's position. 

With some effort, he reached for Connor's hand and squeezed, bringing it to his lips. 

"Connor?” He winced, clearing his throat in vain. Connor stirred and Haytham raised his other hand as brown fluttered open, positively shocked.

He was at a loss himself. This was a first for him, and judging by the look on Connor's face, he'd been severely injured.

He waved, suddenly embarrassed, but pressed chapped lips to his Connor's hand again. "… hello, lad." It was all he could muster, as he waved with his other hand in a sloppy, well drugged greeting. " 'S good to see you." He sounded drunk, even to his own ears, words slurring and hard to annunciate, but he tried regardless, beaming at Connor's wide eyed gaze.

"Hello t' you too." He chuckled, for reasons he didn't understand, and closed his eyes for a few seconds. When they reopened, Connor was fully alert, and Haytham was blinking away sleep again. 

-=-=-=-

Eyelashes fluttered, a soft mumble escaping his lips as Connor stirred in his chair. They opened slowly, and for a short moment he wasn't quite sure what it was that he was hearing, until he felt the brush of something soft touch the back of his hand.

Looking up his eyes fell on the bed, blinked once, then twice, and suddenly he bolted upright with a gasp. He was awake! Haytham was sitting up and he was awake and he was _looking_ at him and-!  
And he still looked terrible and weak and tired, but his eyes were lively, and when he chuckled it felt like the whole weight of the world suddenly lifted off his shoulders.

Connor jerked forward, out of the chair and down on his knees next to the bed, gripping Haytham's hand with both of his own as his lips split into a wide, relieved grin. “H-hi! Gods, dad, I... I'm so glad you're...!” A thick swallow and he leaned forward, eyes closing tightly as he brought Haytham's hand to his own lips and took a deep shaky breathe. He was okay. He was awake so that meant he was going to be okay, right? He was going to make a full recover and they'd get to go home!

“Are you... are you in any pain?” he asked as he looked up again, meeting grey eyes as his thumb stroked over the hand he held. “Can I do something for you, get you anything? How... what do you remember...?”

-=-=-=-

He thought the questions over, perhaps longer than necessary. Thoughts were rather fleeting, brows furrowed as he fought to focus.

"The pain is tolerable." He hurt like hell, but Connor was far too relieved, and he'd not panic him. "I would appreciate water, actually. I'm parched-"

Haytham blinked at Connor's speed, water in his hand within seconds. His chuckle morphed into a cough, and he winced, frowning.

He drank half the glass, slowly, but evidently not slowly enough. A scowl accompanied his cough, fingers pushing the blanket back as he placed the glass aside.

"I recall Silas." he said after a moment, using both hands to adjust his gown for a better look. "I'd toppled him. There was a knife in his spare hand, I had not taken notice. He was holding a standard gun, aimed horribly, and I thought him an idiot." He was reconsidering his stance, eyeing the bandages and exhaling before he tore them away.

He paled, mouth agape.

Two thick, uneven bands of angrily stapled and stitched skin. At least four centimeters, with a surgical incision closer to his navel. The worst of it was the huge, uneven twist of skin. A sudden recollection dawned, Haytham staring down at Silas as the thick blade twisted.

He stared, wordlessly for several moments. He'd seen eggplants sporting lighter colors than his bruising.

"… I think Frankenstein's monster had less repulsive stitches." But it wasn't an insult, no, not at all. It meant they hadn't had time to make it pretty. It meant he was worse off than he'd recalled.  
He rubbed his face, the press of lengthy stubble against his palm giving him longer pause. He pulled a sentence together, just barely, mind trying to desperately make up for lost time, but-

"I do not recall arriving here. I... recall the van, but not leaving it, or the ride here. I... Connor, what _happened_ to me?" He fought the urge to panic, touching his wounds, gasping at the fresh burst of pain.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

-=-=-=-

He recognized the pitch in his father's voice. He knew it all too well, having lived through moments of panic more often than he cared too count. And he also knew how to deal with it. 

Taking Haytham's hand again Connor dragged his chair closer to the bed and sat down, squeezing his fingers gently. “Leonardo said as much, that you probably wouldn't remember everything that happened. It's okay, dad; just... breathe. Slow, deep breaths. I'll tell you everything.”

He waited, watching the rise and fall of Haytham's chest. Honestly, the sight disturbed him too, quite a lot. He hadn't seen the scars yet and he hadn't been prepared for it but he tried to not let it show. That wasn't what Haytham needed right now.

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure that the door was in fact closed and no one could hear what he was about to say he bit his lips, mentally preparing his answers.

“You were unconscious for... a little over four days. We got you to the car and I carried you for the last block to the hospital... we spun a story that someone tried to rob you.” Did he remember what he'd said on the way to the hospital? How he'd said that... that he loved him? Did he remember any of that?

“You lost a lot of blood... a few more minutes and no-one would have been able to do anything to help you... Malik and I both donated blood and... but you made it, so... and you're awake and- and as soon as you're s-strong enough to travel we'll go home.”

He paused then, lips pressing together, brows scrunching. “I... I'm sorry I didn't come to your aid sooner. I swear I tried to get to you as quickly as possible, but I was... held up a little...” Oh he knew it wasn't his fault, not really. It wasn't like he'd asked to be cornered into the room by Robert like he had... even so, he should have kept his cool. He shouldn't have panicked the way he had. Because that was why Robert had beaten him so easily and for that, he _was_ to blame. He should have known better, should have tried harder.

Should he tell him about Silas? That he'd gotten away? Or was it too soon for that yet? It had only been a few days and Haytham was still so weak. Stress wouldn't help his condition. No, it was probably best to keep that little bit of information to himself for a little while longer, at least until Haytham had recovered some more..

There was something he _could_ tell him though, the corners of his lips twitching up. “William is here, and so are Myriam and Thomas. We called- or rather, Leonardo called, in case you... you know. They got here like a day after, they're in the same hotel we are. They're all gonna be so glad to see you're awake!”

-=-=-=-

Four days? Bricks met concrete with less force, Haytham lowering himself into his pillows in silence. He tried grasping to a silver lining, but everything Connor said twisted him, Haytham's lip between his teeth by the end of it all.

He bit down, hard.

"Oh, joy. I'll have a nice side of disappointed speech with my failure to assess a situation, main course of incompetently being stabbed, and what I assume was an utter mission failure as a dessert."

He wanted to throw things, but things were too far away. 

"I don't suppose you'll throw that pitcher on my behalf, lad?" None of it was his fault. They'd done everything right. He was alive, and for that much he should be grateful, what with what he'd just heard. "Hand me the chart by the bed, lad?" Haytham squinted, surprise genuine as he turned the page.

 _How am I alive right now?_ He dare only think it. He should be dead. Fatality rates were sky-high for these procedures... a hepatic vein severance was nothing short of severe.

It explained his unconscious state, Haytham handing back the chart and staring out the window for a few more moments.

"Thank you." Hoarse and low as it was, he said it, and he covered himself with his gown and blankets once more. "I don't say that often enough. I'm sure these days have been trying for everyone, but you above all else." Shaky and soar, he allowed his eyes to close, exhausted and heavy.

"It goes without saying, I appreciate and love you, very much." He cracked an eye open. "It feels foolish to not say it now, given all that's happened. It's probably not how one would wish to hear such news, but it's true enough."

He yawned, turning his head to do so, strength to even lift his arm fading away. "I'll talk to you soon, I'm frustratingly incapable of keeping my eyes open..."

-=-=-=-

It was a bright smile that split Connor's lips and he leaned forward, ever so gently wrapping his arms around Haytham's shoulders and taking great care not to put any pressure on his abdomen. “I'm just glad you're okay. Ish.” he whispered and leaned back just enough to brush a kiss over his father's forehead, smoothing his hair back with one hand. “It's not foolish. I love you too. So much.” 

A deep breath, and he had to pull himself together as he leaned back again, smirking as he patted Haytham's hand. “Get some sleep, old man. You need your beauty rest. I'll let the others know you woke up.” He was sure they'd want to visit soon when he was awake again... but not everyone at once! Haytham needed rest, couldn't do that with people crowding his bed!

He waited until his father dozed off again, which unsurprisingly didn't take long at all. He must still be so very tired. The first thing he did was alerting the head nurse in charge of his father's slightly better condition, and while they worked on checking his vitals and changing his bandaging, Connor fished out his phone and secluded himself to a corner of the room.

It was Altair who picked up almost straight away. _“Connor. 'Sup? How is he?”_

“Good news, he woke up. Like, actually woke up. Heh, woke me up, actually.”

 _“Shit man, really? That's great! Just a sec. Hey guys-!”_ Through the background noise on the other side of the line he could hear Altair yell, informing whoever was currently in the hotel room with him of the news, and then; _“You're on speaker. What did he say? Is he still awake? Tell him I said hi!”_

“He fell back asleep, he was only awake for a few minutes, but he was coherent for the most part. He uh...” A glance over his shoulder at the nurses still working on Haytham, and Connor lowered his voice, whispering into his phone. “He doesn't remember much of what happened and asked me about it... so I told him. Vaguely, no details, and I didn't tell him that you-know ran away... I didn't want to stress him out.” 

_“That was a good call, Connor.”_ Leonardo piped in. _“We can tell him when he's recovered more of his strength and is out of the hospital. William said he can arrange for us all to fly back to London the moment he can arrange a transfer to another hospital, or when he's fully discharged from this one. He agrees that it will be... safer that way.”_

Yeah... good point there. The fact that Haytham Kenway was being treated here after an 'unfortunate encounter with a few muggers', well, it hadn't exactly stayed private. Did Connor expect Silas to sent someone in here to off Haytham while he was down? Absolutely. Wouldn't put it passed the man. The sooner they got Haytham out of here the better... but there was no sense in worrying Haytham with this information.

He hung up then, after promising he'd come back to the hotel soon and get some proper rest himself while Altair covered for him here, Connor stuffed his phone back into his pocket and turned, looking at the bed. The nurses had left, and Haytham was sleeping peacefully.

Hands clenched into fists. He'd see his father safely back home in London so he could recover in peace, no matter what. That was a promise.

-=-=-=-

He woke up hours later to Altair loudly crunching on what he assumed were the world's loudest potato chips.

"Can you shut your gob when chewing, I can hear the enzymes in your saliva."

Of course Altair nearly fell out of his chair at the sound of his voice, Haytham cracking an eye open and managing a wave to Malik. 

He managed to stay awake longer this time, Connor showing up in what he assumed where high spirits moments later, coffee in hand. The lad practically beamed, and Haytham managed an actual conversation for almost a half hour before yawning, drowsiness over taking him.

He woke up that morning at two AM. He lay there, thinking for quite a while, a scowl returning to his features before he managed to force himself to sleep.

It was early still, just after seven, but he'd already had his first visitor, Leonardo holding his laptop as Cristina asked question upon question.

_"I'm so glad you're awake and so sorry I'm not there, papa."_

He was a more than a little touched by the words. Admittedly, Altair calling him father the day before had made him double take too, just right before he smiled ear to ear. All these people, his dysfunctional little family.

"It's fine, darling. Did you fair well on your exams?"

_"Well enough. The last one is tonight, I think I'll do better knowing you're awake."_

"Mhm. You should be getting to bed too, it's growing late."

 _"I will in a sec, Altair said he had something to show me. He said it was Phantom of the Opera related and I'm pretty excitedddd."_ She blew a kiss and announced her love gently, Haytham struggling but managing a semi coherent 'you too.' 

Leonardo returned after passing the laptop to Altair in the waiting room. It was easier to visit in shifts. 

"Thank you. I know for a fact I'm alive because of you." Even if he couldn't recall what happened.

"You don't need to thank me. I'm just glad it worked out. You had us very worried, Papa Kenway."

Haytham chuckled, ignoring how it made his side feel. "Papa Kenway, papa, dad. Any other names you'll bestow upon me?"

"Well, I won't. Though Connor is a different story."

"Oh?"

Leonardo beamed, patting his hand. "Daddy, of course."

Haytham paused at that. Leonardo tilted his head, a sly little smile on his face.

He could only clear his throat at that. "… Yes, of course. In some sort of jubilant exclamation, most likely."

"Most likely. By the way... William is ah, coming by shortly. Will you be alright?"

"I suppose I've little choice, I can't exactly avoid him like this."

"Well, I'll send Ezio in. He'll probably tell you to pretend to sleep."

That is in fact exactly what Ezio did, besides reminding him that we was unshaven like a dick.

"You are my least favorite child right now."

"Ah, but I can shave it for you with my steady hands."

"… Third least favorite child if I'm nicked less than twice." 

Minutes later, Ezio was the third least favorite child, and Haytham sighed in relief, uncertain which children he'd have to bump.

It was hard when they were all his favorite. Or, least favorite.

-=-=-=-

It didn't take long for the door to open again after Ezio had left. Truthfully William had mixed feelings about this upcoming conversation; of course he was most relieved that Haytham had survived and was alive and talking, but he couldn't say he looked forward to confronting his best friend with the reason why. Or rather... once best friend. Even he wasn't quite sure where they stood now.

A near life-time of friendship wasn't that easily thrown away, and _maybe_ he could have handled his own shock a little better when presented with the awful dark truth of what they'd been up to ever since they'd moved to London, but even so... Haytham _had_ to understand that he was in the wrong here, and that this couldn't continue. He was endangering more than just himself, he was risking his son and all these people living with him, and for what?

Revenge? A fucked up sense of justice? This was _not_ the way, and for such a genius Haytham was being incredibly dense about it all.

But that was for later. 

Knocking on the door frame William stepped inside the room, pleased to see that Haytham was seated upright, thick pillows cushioning from behind. He looked better, no longer as pale as before, and more like himself now that the stubble was gone. His eyes were still shadowed and tired but that was unsurprising, considering, and nothing more rest wouldn't fix.

All in all, this was improvement and most definitely a right step on the road to recovery. It was a relief, really, and William was glad for it. This had been too close a call.

“Hey.” he said softly, managing a smile that, thank god, didn't feel forced at all as he sat down in the chair Connor usually occupied. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that? How are you feeling? You look better.”

-=-=-=-

"I'm..." 

Well. Fine. Undetected.

All on the tip of his tongue but none felt like leaving his lips. He hadn't expected to see William at any juncture. Of course he knew he was here, but it was so very different to view his greatest friend for the first time in many weeks.

William was here because he was near death. That was it. Were he well, Haytham would never lay eyes on him. When he was well, they'd go separate ways again, perhaps gentler this time but never to speak again.

His throat seemed to close. He could lie to anyone, he'd done so often enough to many when necessary.

But as he addressed Will, trying his best to wear indifference, he instead bit his lip and closed his eyes.

"Moderately horrible." He sniffed, angry at himself, but his eyes watered anyway. He didn't have the strength to be strong today.

"I suppose I should pretend it's wonderful I'm alive, and everything will indisputably work out well enough. But I'm sore, physical therapy will be grueling, I can't eat nor drink anything but pedialyte and clear fluids for two more days, and then maybe I can handle soup. I'm useless at this point and it's my fault but everyone is too concerned to voice it.

"To top it off, I've missed you, horribly. So, so horribly. You're here because I about died. That's it. That's all. We'll go back to being strangers soon enough."

And that wasn't okay. He wiped his eyes, but it wasn't enough, and buried his face with a very laugh.

"Asking me how I feel. I feel like a day old chum. Just yell at me and get it over with. And ignore my sniffling. It's just cold." Except that his heater was on and he was melting, evidenced by his lack of blankets.

-=-=-=-

Moderately horrible? His lips twitched. “I saw you one day after your surgery. Trust me, you look better.”

Bracing his elbows against his knees William leaned forward; of course Haytham was blaming himself. That was just the kind of person he was, a perfectionist, unable to accept it when he made a mistake, even if that mistake happened because he didn't have the situation in control and it was out of his hands.

Well, this wouldn't have happened if Haytham had just given up on this foolish endeavor all together, but even so... the worst thing was that he could see how much this was bothering him. In the twenty something years of knowing him William could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Haytham cry. Not even on Ziio's funeral had he shed a tear, because Haytham dealt with his grief in a different manner. Yet here it was, and the words said, the reasoning he gave, hurt to listen to.

“Haytham...” he began, scooting his chair closer so he could reach out and take his friend's hand, squeezing. “I don't want us to part on bad terms like we did before, I do not want that. That... I made it worse by doing exactly that.” Because he'd been so angry finding out what his best friend had been up to for so long... angry and terrified.

“I'm not here to... to yell at you, and I'm really sorry if that's really what you think this is going to be. I suppose I deserve that. I came because I'm worried, and because I care about you and I want to help you in any way that I can. You're still my best friend, Haytham; one argument, one fight is not going to change that. Yes, I was angry with you and worried for your and Connor's safety – I think that was justified – but that definitely doesn't mean that I hate you.”

Lips pressed together until they paled, and William felt his own throat began to burn, fingers clenching to hide their tremble. “I was so scared you were going to die when Leonardo called.” he whispered, a tremor in his voice. “And that the last conversation we had was... me yelling and screaming at you. And I profusely apologize for that, Haytham; I should have handled it better. I hurt you. It was wrong of me and I... I hope you can forgive me for that at least.”

He'd almost called Haytham a number of times, to talk it over, guilt eating away at him after the rage and shock had settled... but he'd chickened out each and every time. He still didn't approve of what they were doing of course, but they should talk about it like two adults without any yelling and accusations pointing fingers, when Haytham recovered enough for such a difficult conversation. 

That wouldn't be any time soon.

Really, he just wanted his best friend back...

“I'm working on arranging transport back to London for you and the others. After what Connor told me I'd feel so much better knowing that you are far away from this place. I'm sure you'll want to go home as soon as possible. Just let me help you, Haytham; that's all I want to do.”

-=-=-=-

He shook, the combination of his anxiety and injury overwhelming, and he regretted how dreadful crying felt. He'd always had a better handle on himself, but it was hard enough to stay awake, let alone callous.

But William's words helped. He didn't believe it, not yet. It was easy to be calm and nice when someone near died, the weight of that guilt crippling. He remembered that well, the same softness he'd felt for Connor in the hospital the night Ziio died.

It didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it while it lasted, or at least agreed to be pampered. He enjoyed pampering.

And he enjoyed William speaking to him. So very, very much.

"Well, I suppose if you wish to pamper me, I could acquiesce to a private jet ride, and a handsome physical therapist who looks suspiciously like Liam Hemsworth." William was right. He wanted to leave. But being well enough to do so was another story.

"I suppose I could let you help me. You do owe me, after all, for attempting to rekindle a flame with Catherina Sforza in place of Connor." He moved, grunting but ignoring the eyeing as he lifted his gown.

"And my scar is gnarlier than your appendectomy scar." He pat the bed, moving as best he could. 

William near whistled, wincing in sympathy. Haytham nodded, sighing. "It's like Pitcairn's face: all fucked up."

"Haytham!" William managed between a chortle, eyeing the raised flesh and deep bruises. 

"Uh, deny it. His wife is a saint. Or blind."

"Between you and Thomas, I'm not sure how we have any friends left." This was better than the near tears, by far, and William sat beside him on the bed, kicking his shoes off when Haytham stared at them, then at William, then back again. 

When Thomas and Myriam stepped in some thirty minutes later, Haytham was sound asleep, head resting against William's shoulder as the other flipped through the channels on the TV and stroked his friend's hand. 

~*~

They had not wanted to release him. He was pretty sure if it wasn't for William's insistence and Thomas' rambunctious inability to keep his cock in his pants for more than five seconds, Haytham would be undergoing bed rest for the full twenty days they'd suggested. 

No, it was already day ten, and even that felt too long. Not as long as his road to recovery. 

A full year. That's how long it would take to reach his prior condition. In three months he should see 'vast improvement.' As if he had three months to wait around like a lump. They had to strike, soon, while their presence was still unexpected. They'd managed to take a single hard drive, surely it would have something of use- 

He lurched suddenly, taking a stiff gulp of air and exhaling out of his mouth slowly. Of course it didn't go unnoticed and Altair looked up from where he was packing.

"You gonna upchuck, pops?" It wouldn't be the first time. The first few days had been a strict diet of clear fluids. Then, broths, light soups, maybe a Gatorade. He managed to hold that down, and he started on soft solids, jellos, bland things like flavorless chicken and rice, toast, yogurt. 

And that's where the problems came, as if the constipation wasn't already awful. It seemed what refused to come out of one end wanted to come out of the other, Haytham finding himself curlling around his pillow more often than he cared to count, trying to practice his breathing just two nights ago.

At least he was encouraged to walk. That was one thing he did enjoy, even if it was in awful sweatpants to keep his incisions from flaring.

But back to Altair's question, Haytham shaking his head no. "Absolutely not in this hospital. They may force me to stay longer." 

"Nah, we'll get you home. I'm pretty sure William would fight someone to the death for it at this point."

"Perhaps. You are certain you're fine traveling with Malik and Ezio back home?" It was the only option. They had taken a private plane, and couldn't very well abandon the weaponry. Altair, Ezio and Malik would take that flight home, while everyone else would leave on the company private jet, courtesy of William. William, who was actually being cordial and not in the least bit a dick as Haytham anticipated. 

He chalked up his grief to exhaustion. He wasn't sure if William did, but he didn't mention it, and visited for hours. 

They did have to wheel him out of the hospital, an awful, embarrassing affair he'd forgotten but was instantly grateful for the moment freezing air hit him, and a very warm, olive hand held itself out. 

"Lad." Haytham locked fingers with Connor and accepted the help up. Connor was gentle, it wasn't his fault Haytham's stomach lurched. He gulped in air again, holding a hand over his mouth and waiting for the spell to pass. 

Unlike on most flights, where he was calm but talkative, he didn't say much, listening to Thomas chatter on about the nurse and the pediatrician, and some woman he met in a bathroom. It was actually nice, to hear someone talk about something lighthearted for a change. 

Even nicer was when Thomas remembered he didn't get Haytham a gift or anything. Well, he did, but that top shelf whiskey would have to wait, so...

He was suddenly confronted with a six pack, about an inch away from his face. Thomas noisily chewed his gum and raised his brows. "Ya know ya wanna touch 'em. Just do it, ya haven't been laid in ages, ya geriatric fuck."

"Maybe I don't vocalize such, you nit wit." Still. Haytham rubbed his abs regardless, mildly impressed. "Not bad."

"You two are ridiculous." William seated himself across from Haytham. The place was large enough to seat them all very spaciously, and above all else, it was secure and private. 

"Says the guy who was cuddlin' 'im."

"He fell asleep on my shoulder." William paused, not perturbed in the slightest. "He is a very good cuddler though."

"Gay."

"You are literally letting him pet your abs."

"I didn't say gay was fuckin' contagious, ya cunt, I just said cuddlin' a dude is a little gay."

Myriam took a seat beside William. "It is a little gay, but I think Haytham just pulls the gay out of people."

"Heh, you should 'ave seen 'im in his prime. Tha' was a fun time. Connor, your dad didn't say a thing t' anyone, just walked in, rolled up his sleeves, and waited." Thomas paused, Haytham suddenly on edge with the wicked grin. "… Don't suppose he ever showed you th' video from 'bout ten years ago. Maybe longer. _Barcelonnnnaaaa._ "

"Shut. Up. Thomas." Red tinted Haytham's ears immediately. "You swore you _deleted_ it."

"I did. Benjamin didn't 'cause he's a fuck n' he's always mad at ya for somethin'."

"Probably because you both refer to him as 'bitch ass Benjamin'." William used air quotes. 

"Yeah, well, he should stop bein' such a lil bitch. We rag on ugly all the time for his face and he doesn't cry like a lil bitch."

"Because 'ugly' has four children and a wife." And wasn't stupid with his money, but William wasn't going to start, turning his attention to Connor and Leonardo. 

"Your father became very inebriated and he and Thomas played, and I quite, 'gay chicken.' This is when you try to out-gay the other person. Become intimate, get close to kissing. The other person has to back down. Thomas evidently forgot Haytham is bisexual-"

"Pan-sexual."

"-sorry, pan-sexual, and Haytham evidently forgot he has _standards-_ " William dodged Thomas' halfhearted swat, "-and there's probably dozens of photos of these two, in varying stares of undress until they are in just socks and underwear, trying to 'out-gay' one another."

Thomas nodded, finally smoothing his shirt down. "We saw it in Scrubs. Your dad won. Cheater."

Haytham sighed. "Such a good show for such a long time. And you're an idiot for forgetting I liked men too. If anything, William should have reminded you."

"Excuse me? No, no. Watching that unfurl was perhaps the best part of that awful trip. Barcelona was beautiful but it rained the whole stay-"

The plane began to roll, Haytham paling almost instantly but managing to fight nausea. William grabbed a small bin, just in case, placing it within reach of Haytham should he need it.

"Buckle up then, yeah? Haytham, no one will judge if you get sick so don't hold it back if you can't." William eyed his watch, grabbing his bag. "Time for your medicine by the way-"

But as the plane rolled, wheels pulling up and Haytham's body lurched, William thought the better of it as he turned greener by the minute. 

"Deep breaths. Need a pillow for your abdomen?" Leonardo offered helpfully.

"Please and thank you." His free hand clutched Connor's, squeezing for a second. "I'm probably going to medicate myself into a stupor for most of the flight." To avoid puking everywhere, which seemed like a very real possibility. That, and he'd rather not take a laxative on a plane for obvious reasons. He could wait until they landed for that much. 

-=-=-=-

Photos? There were photos of _that,_ of his father and Thomas of all people, gaying each other up??

_Seriously?_

“Please tell me you have those photos on hand by some miracle.” Connor wheezed even as he squeezed Haytham's hand in return – oh he was turning pale all over again, please don't puke all over him, please. Rubbing Haytham's back with his free hand Connor glanced from William to Thomas and back again, trying so very hard to keep a serious face and failing miserably. “Because that sounds like something I _really_ need to see.”

“Oh I agree! What say you, Will? Please show us if you have them?” Wrapping both of her arms around William's bicep Myriam fluttered her eyelashes at him and rested her head against his shoulder.

Connor couldn't help but snort at that, muffling it in the crook of his elbow even as Thomas frowned her way. “Why d'you wanna see so badly? It ain't that excitin'.”

“Because!” she answered snootily. “He's an attractive man and even though you're not really my type, Thomas, you're pleasing on the eye... for the most part.”

“Geez, thanks.”

“Not to mention,” Connor mused as he grabbed the small bin and pulled it closer, hand still rubbing circles between Haytham's shoulder blades. “You used to have the biggest crush on dad, pretty sure you called him a dilf once.” 

Ignoring how Thomas choked on his beer and broke off into a fit of giggles, she nodded. “I did. Twice actually, once on Christmas”

“Oi, should Willie be gettin' worried with you fancyin' 'Aytham and all tha'?” Thomas snorted and she grinned, reaching up to pat William's shoulder. 

“Nah, he knows I still consider him to be the prettiest. But that doesn't mean I can't look!”

True to her word, William didn't seem concerned at all, merely stroking his chin as he shot Connor a quick look and cleared his throat. “No, I'm not worried at all.”

Whoa yeah, okay. Thomas didn't know that he and his dad... yeah, this was a good moment to change the subject! “I still want to see those photos though.” he muttered as he turned his attention on Haytham again. The plane had evened out by now, no longer climbing as steeply, but his father still looked miserable.

You know, more than normal.

“Breathe, dad. Do you need anything?” he whispered as he leaned in closer, taking Haytham's hand again. “Water or anything else?” Anything to make him feel better and make the trip a little easier for him, because this was going to be a long flight home.

-=-=-=-

"No, it will pass. I anticipate the descent will be much the same but I should be fine the majority of the way." When he wasn't sleeping, which he intended to do shortly. 

"You can show them, Will. I'm rather fond of those photos so long as they're kept relatively private. I looked very handsome in my prime" It was just Thomas after all, and they were largely non explicit. Unless one counted blue briefs as explicit. 

He was thinner then, a more slender frame with lean muscle and dark hair that fell to his Adam's apple. So odd, to see himself beaming ear to ear as he sat in Thomas' lap, the younger man obviously drunk, red about his face, and a little handsy.

"I was a fierce competitor." 

"Yes you were, Thomas." Haytham almost wished to ask William if he'd deleted all the pictures with Charles beforehand, but thought against it, growing more and more fatigued. He was asleep minutes after taking his medicine, and woke hours later to a rumbling stomach that he feared would rebel. He stuck to a slim fast and crackers, managing half a can before giving up. 

He managed to stretch his legs for a bit, read half of his novel, and fell asleep once more. He hated that the most, the lack of energy that came with barely eating. But he congratulated himself on the barely eating as they made their descent, pillow again pressed to his stomach as he practiced breathing. 

"Should we take you to a hospital, Haytham?" Williams concern couldn't be masked. "I'm not sure you should go home just yet."

"I'd rather be home." And that was that.

He didn't realize how much he missed Queen Anne Square until they pulled up to the driveway, Cristina already waiting for them and running down the short steps to greet them. "You don't look so bad. A little pale and thin, but you look decent enough."

"Thank you, darling." Her hug was as light and fleeting as her kisses on either cheek. 

"Tea will be ready in a second, I put a huge kettle on. Are you guys staying for a while?"

William nodded. "Thomas is returning home in a few days, but I'll be here until I'm no longer welcome. Somebody has to drag him to appointments, and unlike Connor who may cave when confronted with a pissy Haytham, I'm used to it." He winked Connor's way, grabbing a bag. "He'll be too inclined to cave." 

-=-=-=-

Oh har har, funny. “I can resist my father's advances and deal with his bitch moods, thank you very much.” Connor grumbled and pushed the wheelchair forward, Leonardo helping to get it over the threshold.

“Sure you can, Connor.” William mused as he followed them inside and Cristina shut the door behind them. The amused tone in William's voice just screamed for a defensive answer, but Thomas was listening as was Cristina; biting the inside of his cheek instead Connor merely sputtered under his breath as he wheeled Haytham into the direction of the living room.

The welcoming sight of such instantly made him feel better, the familiarity of home chasing away the anxiety of the last week. Russia had been such a humongous failure with serious consequences, something they would have to talk about as soon as possible, after Thomas traveled back to New York.

They still hadn't told Haytham about Silas' survival and the fact that he now knew their identities, making future den raids even more dangerous than they already would have been. Nor had they told him of what had happened to the den near Lake Baikal, of how it had been abandoned and that nothing had been left behind. All they had was the one hard drive Ezio had taken with him, and if they couldn't find a lead on there, Connor feared that this may very well be the end of their journey.

Everything just seemed so stacked against them all of the sudden, and it was disheartening at best and depressing at worst.

For now though, he would focus on Haytham's recovery; there wasn't much sense in worrying what the future might hold in terms of locating and liberating other dens until Haytham was back on his feet again, and that was still a long ways off.

He helped Haytham out of the wheelchair and into his usual spot on the couch, fluffing up a few extra pillows to make him more comfortable as Cristina walked back in carrying a tray with tea and coffee for those who wanted it.

Pausing, Connor frowned and pursed his lips, slowly sitting down next to Haytham as he glanced into the direction of the stairway and frowned. “Um, dad? It just occurred to me that... the bedroom is upstairs and you are in no condition to climb them. I guess you could bunk on the couch...” 

Or...

It was with a mischievous grin slowly spreading out over his face that Connor leaned closer and wiggled his eyebrows at his father. “Or you could just let me carry you up and down the stairs and not bitch about it.” It wasn't like he minded anyway. Carrying the great, powerful and proud Haytham Kenway around like one would a bride did wonderful things for his mood. It was funny as shit.

-=-=-=-

"That wheel chair is going in the trash, and you will follow if you test me further."

Ridiculous, as if he'd let a flight of stairs stop him! He'd gone down them, once. Granted he needed some assistance climbing them, but he would be just fine. 

"My bedroom stays as is. Besides, we're running out of usuable rooms." Ezio and Leonardo already volunteered to room together, as did Malik and Altair until Thomas, William, and Myriam decided to depart. He would not, by any means, take up the living room of all places.

"I think you've forgotten who I am, lad. Stairs aren't going to stop me, nor is the stomach pain." Now excuse him, as he rose to his feet to secretly take laxative. Pretending to control his bowels was but step one, and he would be managing to eat without consequence shortly. 

"Are you sure you shouldn't use a cane maybe? At least upstairs?"

"I appreciate your concern, Myriam, but I'm fine." He marched his way to the stairs, gripping the banister, and made it five steps before slowing. Ten before he stopped, hand shaking on the railing, breath coming out in small huffs. But he was half way up, and he had made his point. Steps were not going to be an issue. 

Until they were. His head nearly left his neck with the force of his turn, hearing the sound of footsteps behind him. "William, I am fine! Do not even-"

"Haytham, Connor was jesting, please use some sort of support." William was smart enough to speak from his spot down stairs, safely away from the growling. Because that was a thing happening. 

"I'm fully capable, they're stairs. Bits of inclined wood and the like. I'll manage, sans help."

He did not manage sans help, nearly tripping on step seventeen. William was by his side instantly, offering his hand. Haytham smacked it several time before William smiled coldly. "Connor, carry your father-"

"He will do no such thing! Give me your stupid hand."

They walked together, and William aided him, settling him onto the bed. Haytham panted, shaking his head. "I hate stairs."

"No, you hate help. And you're gonna have to get over that, alright? Connor was just teasing."

"I know that, he's allowed to do so." A smirk rose onto Haytham face as he caught his breath. "I should purchase a cane for the sole purpose of beating him senseless."

"Well, it is exercise, though I'm not sure how he'll feel about it. By the way, did you need anything up here?"

"… I forgot my bags are still downstairs."

William spared a smile. "We'll get them to you. But you, take it _easy._ Recovery is a slow process. So just let it happen naturally."

He would concede nothing, offering a nod but not agreeing to take life easy. Like wasn't easy. Life was hard and messy, and life was not about to ease up just because he requested it.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! ^__^
> 
> Just in the nick of time, I promised I'd upload this chapter before the week ended, and it's 10:30 in the evening for me right now.
> 
> Warnings for incest, though I don't know why I'm still adding warnings for that this far into the story lol. I really like how this chapter came out, so yay! Hope you enjoy and as always, if you find any grave errors let me know.
> 
> And of course, a cliff hanger. You're welcome.

"You're doing well. Just one more."

Sweat dotted his forehead. Haytham grit his teeth as he lifted his right leg first, taking William's hand on the final step. For all the issues his stomach gave him, Haytham was nothing short of determined; in just three days since his return, he managed to ascend and descend the stairs twice and do a mile and half on the treadmill.

Considering he'd only successfully kept down two meals since his return, William called it success. Physically, he was improving in strides that made the physical therapist he'd consulted whistle over the phone at his success.

"At this rate you'll see full improvement in nine months. Haytham, that's a quarter less than expected. You're incredible."

For all of William's encouragement, he received shrugs of indifference.

Haytham slept for ten hours. He took his medication. He wasn't trying to get better faster, but pushed himself enough to improve. He was bring the model patient, keeping a log of what he ate and what he tolerated, and took note of any bowel related issues or incontinence as a result of certain food types.

He was behaving. He even agreed to see the physical therapist. He didn't complain, he laughed at the jokes thrown his way.

William waited until Haytham was in the shower, and called an emergency meeting with everyone. Haytham would be a while, and Connor would likely help with his bandages but they needed to hear this, especially with Thomas having left the day before. "Haytham is making huge strides towards improvement." His good natured smile faltered. "… And he's... fairly depressed."

"You don't say?" chimed Malik, sipping his coffee.

"Wait, seriously, he is? Ow!" Smacking Altair upside the head was easy enough, Malik's eyes rolling.

"Of course he is. He went from his normal routine to struggling to walk up two flights of stairs and a heavily restricted diet. Not to mention he probably feels responsible for Lake Baikal." Malik muttered. "And we still haven't told him the details."

"With Thomas gone I'm sure he'll be asking shortly." Lips pressed into a thin line, William made sure his point was clear. "I don't want the details, but if it's something that's going to set him back emotionally, _please_ do so gently. Very, very gently. We can't hide from the truth but cushion the blow. For all of Haytham's peacocking, he's sensitive, very sensitive. It just manifests as aggression and vendetta."

"Aggression? What, towards us?"

A sigh, and William shrugged. "That depends. Haytham grieves by not grieving. It's a horrendous idea, but it's what he does. As Connor experienced first hand, after Ziio's passing he was inconsolable for months. He lived and breathed work and alcohol. He's task oriented, so it was a blessing and curse. Profits were actually the highest they've ever been, and that was profound."

Another sigh, and he gestured Connor's way. "But he was, and _is_ , self destructive. That is my main concern. He's in no shape to continue this work. He cannot imbibe in alcohol. And that only leaves one gateway; depression. His depression is all consuming, and he will attempt to bring everyone down with him. It's impressive, actually. The same charisma he shows as a leader and uniter is the very same that can consume everything around him in a bubble of pity."

"So... what do we do to avoid this?" Leonardo interjected softly. "We do owe him the truth."

"I'm not saying hide it. Just, proceed gently. Treat him mostly normal, save for commentary about his physical appearance." He added sternly. "Make jokes about his age or eyesight or what have you, and that's fine, alright? But comments about his weight, his ability to or inability to complete a physical activity, or his prescriptions due to certain irregularities he's experiencing? Do _not_ venture there. Do _not_ upset him, then get upset yourself when he lashes out, because he will, and he will go for the jugular. And I will personally fill a sock with soap and beat you in your sleep."

He repeated once more. "Don't. Do. It. He will lash out and then it's more of a hassle, because he'll feel bad days later about your comment and his comment. I speak from experience. It's awful. He doesn't need it, and neither do you.

"Long story short, don't be disingenuous, just don't be an asshole. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm making him breakfast and need a pipette to write 'Good Morning Gorgeous' on his waffles."

Myriam laughed, shaking her head. "How have you been divorced three times? Anyone who makes up to 'good morning gorgeous' in syrup should be overjoyed."

"I've technically been married three times, Myri, but divorced twice. And that's probably because I never wrote 'good morning gorgeous' in syrup for the two I divorced."

"And the one you didn't?"

William paused, heating up the skillet, and Myriam watched him, biting her lip. "I withdraw my question."

"Oh, no, Myri, there's no need for that! Yes, I did write that for Caroline." William cleared his throat, phone dinging. "Oh Connor, Haytham was requesting assistance with his bandages. Could you please?" 

-=-=-=-

“Yeah.” 

The spoon he'd used to eat his cornflakes with found its way back into his mouth as Connor pushed his chair back and stood up from the kitchen table. William was absolutely right, about pretty much everything he'd just said. As tempting as it was to tease Haytham about certain things, even if just to lighten the mood, they'd have to be careful not to go overboard with it.

Something Ezio, and Altair too for that matter, would do well to remember, as they tended to flap their mouths when they really shouldn't.

That Haytham was recovering more rapidly than initially imagined was of course a wonderful thing, baby steps as they were, but it was all physical. Emotionally he wasn't doing well, and he hadn't needed William to remind him of that. 

It was clear as day. This was hardly the first time he'd dealt with his father's depressive moods, though Connor fervently hoped it wouldn't get as bad as before, after Ziio's passing.

Well, at least Haytham would lay off the alcohol this time. There would be no more finding his father so startlingly drunk he couldn't do anything but puke up his own guts and wallow in his own self pity.

Climbing the stairs three steps at a time Connor jogged down the hall and knocked on the door once before entering; there was no sign of Haytham but the water was still running in the adjacent bathroom. Taking the spoon out of his mouth he tapped it on the bathroom door and cleared his throat to be heard over the shower spray.

“Ay, dad. Can I come in? William said you were asking for me.”

-=-=-=-

He couldn't not roll his eyes at that question. He tried not to, but he just couldn't do it. 

"No Connor, just stay out there. I mean, I called you, but just idly stand there, because that's what I need." Jack ass.

 _You're being a dick for no reason, jerk._ Yes, yes, okay conscience. Sound the alarm, he was irritated once more. He grabbed two towels, focusing on his hair and left the fogged mirror and scale be. No, he shouldn't be taking showers, but baths served to irritate him. As did too many questions, not enough tea, and the every other day laxative he was forced to scarf down because he was _still_ kicking back bland white rice. 

"..." He said nothing and opened the door because Connor could not take a hint. He didn't roll his eyes to his face, and that was in itself a victory. 

He was less successful keeping the growl from his words. "… I can't reach my calves and it's easier if you help with the bandages." Oh, he could reach his feet, but not without borderline unbearable pain dizzying him, which would cause him to sit down and contemplate his short comings. His many, many shortcomings.

"Lad. Today. Preferably."

-=-=-=-

Uh, did that mean he could come in, or...?

The door opened nonetheless, and Connor was met with the very _very_ irritated face of his father glaring back at him. Okay then. No no, he could deal with this. It was cool. It was fine.

“Yessir.” White teeth gleamed as he bit down on the spoon and smirked, taking Haytham's hand and pulling him out of the doorway. Leonardo had showed him how to do this. Not that one needed to have a master's degree when it came to wrapping bandages, but it had to be just right; too loose and they'd sag, too tight and it would only serve to irritate and hurt him. Not too much padding, but not too little either, or the bandages would chafe.

He had plenty of experience wearing bandages himself after all.

The healing injuries were still red, not inflamed red but red nonetheless, and the surrounding skin was still mottled in various shades of different colors. It was painful to even look at, but he knew better than to mention it.

If only there was something he could do to lift Haytham's spirits. Well, there _was_ something but it was still too early to bring that up. It was still in the early planning stages and the only one who knew was Leonardo, whom he could trust to keep it an absolute secret until it was time to surprise his father with it.

Medkit grabbed and flipped open, Connor grabbed padding and a roll of bandages, and squirted a decent amount of antiseptic on a large wad of cotton. “Hold please.” he said as he gently pressed it against the largest of the cuts, beginning to wrap the first roll of bandage around his abdomen.

“William is making waffles.” Glancing up to meet grey Connor tapped the spoon with a finger and twirled it around with a practiced flick of his tongue. “I chose cornflakes instead. His waffles suck.”

He had to shift a little closer to reach around his father, passing the bandage roll from one hand to the other as he brought it around again. “So do cornflakes.”

-=-=-=-

His calves were still wet. He clung to that little fact, that spoon twirling and clacking about that stupid perfect mouth with those full, lovely lips. 

That stupid mouth that kept blabbering about waffles and cornflakes when it should just let him watch his well deserved show. Not that it mattered, he wouldn't broach the subject of sexual favors. Not with that hideous display on his abdomen finally covered, and not with his muscle loss. Muscle, weight, all of it just rapidly being lost as he lumped around.

"My calves are still wet." It sounded bland rather than angry. Haytham lifted his leg himself, attempting to dry one before Connor could open his mouth.

It went as well as he predicted. He managed the left one with just a twinge but the right... he shuddered, nostrils flaring, and passed the towel to Connor. He didn't look him in the eye. He was used to his throat burning by now, and managed to fight it off.

"I acquire some assistance with the rest." Pants, underwear, socks. He could manage the shirt with minor hissing, but lifting his right leg was agony. This waiting game was agony. "Silas better be dead. No, crippled. Shot in a knee cap at the very least."

-=-=-=-

Oh right. Calves. Heh. 

Connor waited, letting Haytham attempt to dry them himself once more before he accepted the towel and wrapped it around this leg. Good effort though.

“You know that if you need me to do something for you, you only have to ask. Or demand, depending on whether I'm feeling rebellious or not.” It was followed by a quick peck on the lips before Connor turned, throwing the used towel over his shoulder with a dramatic toss as he moved over to the closet.

Let's see... pants, socks... he'd just pulled open Haytham's underwear drawer when the implication of the words reached him and he paused, frowning.

Oh.

Shit.

“Uh, yeah, we've... been meaning to talk to you about what happened at the den. About Silas.” He wasn't even remotely prepared to talk about this now, he didn't even think he was the right person for the job... Leonardo was so much better at explaining these sort of things in a way that was tactful.

But on the other hand, he might be the best person for the job simply because of their close relationship, and it had been his decision to let Silas go in the first place.

And it had been a surprisingly easy decision too, now that he thought about it. It hadn't been that important at the time.

Briefs and socks in one hand and a pair of the sweat pants Haytham hated so much in the other Connor turned and walked back to the bed, laying the clothes out over the sheets before he knelt down and wordlessly helped his father into his briefs, pulling them up.

“We didn't want to bring it up while Thomas was here, for obvious reasons, nor did we want to tell you in the hospital.” Socks were next, letting Haytham lean on his shoulders so he wouldn't topple over and finally, the sweat pants. There was no sense in telling him bad news while still mostly naked from the waist down.

Rising to his feet again Connor removed the spoon from his mouth and tossed it on the bed, struggling to find the right words, the best way to tell Haytham what was sure going to be painful news, and trying to figure out what he could do the cushion the blow.

“Sit down, 'kay?” Taking one of Haytham's hands he flopped down on the mattress as well and licked his lips, suddenly dry to the touch.

“I saw him.” he whispered after a moment of tense silence, the hold he had on his father's hand as much as a comfort to him as he hoped it would be for Haytham as well, thumb mindlessly drawing circles over his palm. “When me and Altair were on our way to where you were... Silas was running away. And Ezio was getting shot at.”

A sigh, followed by a thick swallow and Connor looked up, black hair he hadn't bothered to tie back yet falling down one shoulder like a curtain of ink. “I'm sorry but... I let him go. He wasn't my priority at the time, you were. You _are._ You always will be. I'm sorry, dad, but his death or your _life,_ it was the most difficult and at the same time the easiest choice I've ever had to make.”

-=-=-=-

He almost chastised him for the spoon, holding his tongue. Oh, wonderful, he need sit for this answer. Fabulous.

He masked his feelings the best he could, staring at Connor's hand, drawing circles over his own. He got away. Silas got away because he needed help and no one was willing to risk his life.

"It's rather difficult to express anger when I would have done the same were roles reversed." He sighed, picking up the spoon and toying with the handle.

"I cannot believe how badly I ruined the operation." Connor's hand was an ever warm reminder that he was still alive, even with his horrible news. He likely would not be without him and Leonardo especially.

"I know you haven't told me the state of the den. That in itself is enough. We failed. I failed. I'm not sure if I want the details, but I know either everyone's dead or the place was cleaned out, perhaps a mix of the two. I'm not an idiot. If there had been success after, that's the first thing that would have been mentioned to lift my spirits."

Instead, one hard drive that may not have anything of use. All of this effort for failure.

"Thank you for your honesty. I'd prefer an unpleasant truth to a lie." He didn't realize how cold he was until lips touched Connor's hand. 

"Let's hope the physical therapist is eye candy in the least. I'd like to do something other than sulking, no matter how proficient I've become. Now, shirt please. I'll try my hand at mediocre waffles prior to my assessment."

-=-=-=-

Connor wordlessly stood up from the bed and reached for a dress shirt, shaking the fabric loose. Haytham had taken the news rather well, better than expected, but of course he was blaming himself again. Calling it _his_ failure.

That wasn't true.

Helping Haytham's arms through the sleeves Connor stepped around him again and reached up, beginning to button it close. His eyes wouldn't meet his.

“There is more to it. I fucked up too.” he muttered once he was halfway down the line of buttons. “The den leader, he pretty much admitted that he knew who I was and who you were, because Silas told him. Well, he's dead... but Silas still knows.”

His hands shook as he pushed the next button through, and Connor had to take a deep breath before he continued, though he still wouldn't look at his father. “While I don't regret letting him go, that decision now endangers us all. I am sure that Silas has told everyone about who we are by now, and our location here isn't exactly a secret. It was why we wanted to get you out of Russia as soon as possible, and why one of us always kept watch when you were still hospitalized.”

Nostrils flared and teeth grit, Connor finished buttoning him up and gently slid his hands down Haytham's chest to smooth out the fabric. “I'm not going to talk you out of blaming yourself for what happened because I know better than that... but this isn't just your blame to bare. We both knew that something was off before anything even happened, I felt it and I know you did too. Splitting up was the stupidest thing we could have done. And letting Silas escape... that is on _my_ head.”

-=-=-=-

Haytham stilled, allowing the unnecessary pampering if only to listen to Connor's point of view. And what a point of view it was, Haytham's brows knitting. 

That made sense. Silas did know who he was, he likely had suspicions prior but probably wrote it off. With this many dens destroyed and business taking a hit however, it only made sense to alert whomever was in charge. Everything was that much more dangerous now, their identities very likely available to everyone still involved with the dens, particularly with the spot lights seeming penchant towards him. 

Of course Queen Anne's Square had a good security system, top of the line, the best money could buy. Still he doubted that would ease Connor's mind. No, he let the lad finish, jaw tight and brows furrowed as he smoothed any wrinkles he may have had. Huh. Lad must pay more attention than he thought.

Thankfully, still not enough to prevent Haytham from catching him off guard.

His fingers tangled in strands of ebony and pulled Connor forward into a kiss that was firm but consisted of mostly lips. Mostly. And at first.

Infatuated with the spark that ignited, teeth sunk into Connor's lower lip, his apologetic suckle wet and noisy. 

Haytham parted with a gasp, but pressed their foreheads together. 

"Shut up." Warm breath fluttered over his lips, and he kissed Connor, briefly, sucking on his tongue. "My safety was your priority. Foolish as this may sound, I have not been somebodies priority since childhood." Another wet kiss, the slow swirl of tongue leaving him breathless. "I quite like being your priority. Selfish or not, you saved my life.

"Had you taken off to chase after Silas, we would have been held up further, correct? And I do believe you were keeping a promise to me, Connor. So, tell me-," he sucked the same lower lip again, parting briefly only to whisper, "-how do you expect me to react to the news that you not only listened to me, but would do anything in an effort to keep me safe?" 

He bit down this time, smirking as it pulled a noise from his son. "Dumby." Hands fell, from disheveled locks to broad shoulders. "We'll figure it out. We will. Leave that to Leonardo, Malik, and myself." His grip tightened and Haytham busied himself, kissing his jaw, his chin, down to his Adams apple. 

"I've missed you..." He'd been surrounded by everyone these passed few weeks, and every time Connor came to bed, Haytham was either ill or long asleep, ruining any chance of alone time they had. 

Like now, how his stupid phone was ringing. Haytham ignored it, wetly mouthing over Connor's pulse. "Don't get it."

-=-=-=-

Oh.

Hands in his hair and teeth on his lips. This he'd missed. Somehow, what he'd said had put Haytham in a good enough mood to initiate contact. Heh, he should be the bearer of bad news and blame himself more often.

On a more serious note though (not that he was taking 'dumby' serious)... this was just yet another obstacle they'd need to overcome, one of many, and so far they'd always succeeded. Haytham had done the impossible once before by freeing him from Brazil, and had done it again by tracking Silas and Cutter to Bali while having absolutely no leads at all, and with Malik and Leonardo to help... it was perfectly normal to be concerned, it was expected even, but this was something they could deal with too.

“Hmmmm.” Sucking his lower lip, which still throbbed a little from the bite before, between his teeth Connor leaned his head back, allowing Haytham more room to work. He'd stopped wearing turtlenecks, the hand shaped bruises were as good as gone, and he shuddered at the light press of teeth against his throat, a warm tongue soothing away the sting they'd left behind.

Haytham's phone ringed but Connor ignored it as well, chuckling as he slipped his hands up Haytham's back and tangled his fingers into pepper colored hair, still damp from the shower. “Wasn't planning to.” he mused, and gasped as Haytham paid attention to a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. Well shit, if he kept this up...!

“Ahh... d-dad, I don't think we...” should do this, what with Haytham still so bothered and pained by his injury. Still Connor made no move to stop him, merely breathing out a soft moan and enjoying the attention he was given, licking his lips as he tugged on Haytham's hair just enough for him to close the distance between them.

Another kiss, short but no less heated than before, his nails scratched over Haytham's scalp as he pulled back, his eyes darkened with barely contained lust. “You're making it really difficult for me to resist, you know that? Sucking on your expensive silverware is a poor substitute for what I _really_ want to do...”

-=-=-=-

There it was, at long last. A wonderful breathlessness that had little to do with his injury and everything to do with that hand buried in his hair and that tongue coaxing his own.

"That explains the dirty spoon on our bed." Lips twisted, so very tempted to ask for something, anything. It had been so long since their trip to Canada, which was-

Haytham blinked, separating from the kiss with a frown. "Lad, it's been three months since we've been intimate." Grey softened. "And you are correct, unfortunately. I am not yet ready for something so vigorous. I fear panting and deep breathing will only aggravate injury." Hence the low intensity work outs and breathing exercises.

Hayrham leaned in for another kiss, and reached for Connor's zipper, unbuttoning his pants with minimal effort.

"But, you are definitely deserving, and I enjoy your handsome face contorting in pleasure only I can give." Lips twitched as his fingers curled around the thick shaft, stroking a vein. He tugged pants, impatient.

"Too long, lad." Haytham's thumb rubbed along the head, smearing beading precum. Lips descended again, Haytham practically humming as he started a slow, tight grip after spitting into his palm.

-=-=-=-

Connor blinked and stiffened as he felt deft, experienced fingers reach for his zipper and pull it down, brushing over his crotch in the process. Oh. Well then. Was he really going to-

Yup. Yes. Haytham really was.

His hands flew up, gripping Haytham's shoulders tightly to have something to hold onto as fingers wrapped around his cock, and grunted. He was still flaccid, but Connor doubted he'd be for much longer; while he could get himself off just fine every morning, his own hand simply didn't compare to this. It was _nothing_ compared to the touch of another, and Haytham knew exactly where to touch, where he was the most sensitive and how to draw the neediest noises from him with every surprise squeeze and flick, leaving him guessing and at his mercy.

Especially after so long. A very welcome surprise it was.

His eyelids twitched then fluttered shut as his father began to stroke him, slowly but with a grip that was perfectly tight, just how he liked it. Warmth spread out through his body, threatening to turn his legs into jello and Connor shuddered, his soft moan swallowed up in the kiss.

Too long indeed. Connor broke apart with a breathless chuckle and buried his face in the crook of his father's neck and shoulder. “Three months... one week... and f-four days...” he whispered as one of his hands found their way back into Haytham's hair again, clenching and unclenching his grip in the damp tresses. “I kept count...”

A louder gasp this time and his hips bucked, breath stuttering as he slowly began to thrust, fucking into the tight grip Haytham had on him. Pressed so close he could smell the shampoo Haytham had used, his breath ghosting over his skin where his face was still pressed against his father's shoulder with every gasp. “F-fuck... dad, more... please...”

-=-=-=-

He'd chuckle if it were funny. Really he was in amazement that their celibacy had stretched so long.

Haytham's kisses were feverish, and for a moment he considered touching himself, stopping when his own gasp caused a sharp inhale. Pain blossomed, and he withdrew the hand from himself, exhaling. Damn it. 

But that didn't mean he had to stop Connor. No, he quickened the pace, loosening his hand just slightly, enough to tease foreskin with firm squeezes as Connor fucked into his hand. Thick, and perfect, Haytham shut his eyes to listen to the little noises he pulled from him, once again ignoring his phone.

They should hurry. Though with the amount of time they'd spent sexless, Connor wouldn't be long. 

He returned to kissing him when his lungs granted permission, and he shimmied his second hand into Connor's pants, cradling testicles firmly, rolling them in his palm as he worked his hand slowly once more and tightened his grip. 

"Someday soon, we'll get better acquainted again." A devilish grin, and his lips pressed to that one senstive spot on Connor's neck, the very same that made Haytham sigh in pleasure. "I wouldn't mind, I suppose, getting well acquainted with your cock again, in a more intimate manner. Tell me, Connor: would you prefer to fuck me or make love?"

-=-=-=-

That did it. Not the squeezing grip, not the hand massaging his balls, but those words. They instantly conjured up vivid images straight out of his secret early morning fantasies, and memories of that one time Haytham had allowed the change in position, literally riding him into the bathtub.

Connor choked back a fevered, breathless groan and his grip on Haytham turned bruising, fingers digging harshly into his shoulder. Heat washed over him, the roar of blood loud in his ears as his hips stuttered and bucked, and his cock twitched, spilling seed over his father's hand.

He barely had enough sense left in him to not sag against him like a sack of potatoes and force Haytham to carry his weight, whimpering in the aftershocks of what had been a quick but powerful orgasm; pulling away Connor flopped on the bed with all the grace he could muster – which wasn't much – and pulled a shaking arm over his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath.

Then, he smirked. “Unfair... you douchebag... asking me that when I'm...” Well it had definitely pushed him over the edge, that was for sure. “How about both? Can't I have both?” His grin widened, wiggling his eyebrows and Connor lowered his arm, sitting up and reaching for Haytham to give him a proper thank you-

“You guys!” A loud knock on the door, and Connor whipped his head around, eyes going comically wide as Ezio's voice called out to them. “William called twice. Your waffles are getting cold. Are you two okay in there?”

-=-=-=-

"I don't know. Perhaps I can make something work." He'd every intention of licking a strip of cum from his hand, but jumped at the sudden knock, rolling his eyes. Right, yes. Buzz kill.

Not that he had much of one, still rock hard. No matter. He fixed Connor his best stare, raising his nose snootily. "Connor is coming, I need a moment to primp. You mustn't rush perfection, as a fellow pretty man I'd expect all of you to know that."

Oh hell. He licked a small strip of cum from his hand, eyes never leaving Connor's. "Connor, aren't you coming lad? Or going? Whatever it is you need to do, I need a moment longer." His erection had only begun to deflate, and he'd rather not see Ezio right now.

He wasn't sure how thick that door was...

-=-=-=-

Oh you little shit. You teasing son of a bitch.

His face was burning, flaming red and Connor reached for the discarded towel, whapping his father with it. “Very funny, dad.” he sneered, unable to bite back amusement and not really trying anyway, and stood up, zipping himself up and quickly wiping his sweaty face with the towel.

“I'll be sure to thank you properly, later.” he whispered, offering a quick peck on Haytham's lips before he threw the towel into his face and quickly made for the door, slipping through before Ezio could peek inside.

The Italian just stared at him, one eyebrow arched as his eyes flitted to the closed door and back to his friend, taking note of the flush that was still present on Connor's cheeks. “Um... what were you doing in there?”

“Nothing. Just helping him with his bandages, as requested. What else should I be doing in there?”

“I don't know.”

“Well neither do I!”

“I thought-”

“You thought wrong. It wast just bandages. Also, I'm hungry.”

His frown only deepened. Connor was acting weird. How long did it take to change a couple of bandages? Why had Haytham, who was always so punctual, not answered his phone not once, but twice? This wasn't the first time he'd noticed Haytham and Connor behaving... well, not _odd,_ but... well okay, it was odd, but considering what had happened to them both, they were entitled to a little oddity. Still, sometimes he couldn't help but feel like they were hiding something from them all... but how was he to ever bring that up if he didn't even know how to put his suspicions into words himself? 

Connor rushed down the stairs, leaving Ezio with no choice but to follow after him, just as confused as before.

-=-=-=-

Haytham waited a few moments, snatching his phone off the bed and rolling his eyes at the text messages William had sent him.

_Connor's red. What'd you do?_

He snickered, glaring as his wound pulled, then resumed typing. Sort of. It was a picture of an eggplant and a thumbs up. That was texting, right?

He ignored whatever William texted back, erection finally gone. For the first time in a long time, he grinned and waltzed down the steps, entering the kitchen. "Oh, I smell mediocrity. William must be cooking again."

"So sweet of you to notice and take part." 

"Excuse me for wishing to look my best under what I pray be an attractive physical therapist." Haytham's lips twitch as he squinted at the syrupy words on his waffles. "Aww, thank you. I am beautiful. It's time you took notice." 

William snorted, setting a new and warmer waffle on his plate. "That's probably soggy by now, and yes, I know the rules."

"No duck bread and no soggy waffles, indeed. You truly are a man of many talents, William." He took a bite, chewing carefully. "What's the physical therapists name?"

"Julien du Casse, he's French. I couldn't get you Liam Hemsworth I'm afraid. He's more brunette, but you should like him. He did volunteer for the position knowing your high standards."

"Oh, he likes danger. I'm intrigued." Chewing thoughtfully, Haytham managed another swallow and a few sips of orange juice. "When does he get here?"

"He's been. For about seven minutes. Hence why I was calling you."

Haytham blinked, shrugging as he made eye contact with Connor. "Come with? You'll probably want to take notes on the routine I'm expected to perform every other day or so."

-=-=-=-

Hm, what? Connor blinked, a new spoon, fresh out of the drawer because he'd left the other one on the bed upstairs and that just wouldn't do, pushed around with his tongue as he looked up. Oh yes the physical therapist. William had mentioned having found someone to help speed up his father's recovery.

Personally, he wasn't too fond of bringing in a stranger, an outsider into this house, but all of their equipment, weapons and plans were safely stored away in the basement. This Julien guy could take up one of the spare unused bedrooms upstairs and turn that into a gym, or whatever it was that he would need for this job.

“Christ, dad.” he smirked, plopping his elbows on the table and resting his chin in the palms of his hand. “So eager to meet the new hot guy. I get it, you have a _thing_ for young men, but finish your mediocre waffle first before you check out whatever eye candy William picked out for you.”

Connor ignored the roll of blue eyes sent his way, clacking the spoon against his teeth. 

-=-=-=-

"Now, now Connor. I expect no jealousy if another starts calling me daddy." Yes, he too was granted a fair mood, and took another bite, frowning. "My stomach isn't particularly thrilled at the moment." Damn it, not again. Like he swallowed a brick, though he chose to ignore it in favor of some water.

"I'm done."

William frowned. "You're really not eating very much. Can I get you something else?"

"No, it's not an issue with your cooking, I can't keep most carbohydrates down without issue. I'd rather not keep someone waiting while I attempt to do so." 

"Alright. Take it easy with you physical therapy."

"Of course."

Thankfully Leonardo seemed to preoccupy Julien well. Haytham squeezed Connor's hand, lip between his teeth. Not bad. A peppering stubble graced fair features, dark hair and eyes set into into a high set forehead and pleasing features.

"I apologize for my late arrival." 

"None needed! Tres manifique. I never thought I'd get to meet the great Kenways." He'd a steady handshake, and offered his hand to Connor. "I've always wanted to meet you. You're bigger in person."

"Far larger than myself, isn't the lad?" 

"Mm." Julien offered a grin. "He is. So, tell me, what physical activity are you capable of, Monsieur?"

"Walking, light jogging and a few pull ups." Haytham settled against the couch with a gentle sigh. "Steps are still an issue."

"Do you have issues with your weight?"

"I'm losing weight rather rapidly which is concerning." A lot of weight. Nearly twenty pounds, most of which had to be muscle given his sedentary state.

"What about you, Connor?" Julien turned, not unkind. "You're still rather large. Has the stress of the situation not affected your physical form?"

-=-=-=-

“Um. Thanks.” Firm handshake. He'd always wanted to meet him? Why? He wasn't that special. Haytham was the celebrity here, not him. Weird. Julien was... interesting? He could see why William had picked this guy, in terms of looks anyway, though Connor could only hope that this Julien actually knew what he was doing. Haytham needed a professional, because his recovery was already going to be grueling.

He'd be keeping a close eye on this Julien, just to be sure.

Hearing about Haytham's weight loss though made him frown. Sure, it wasn't that surprising with how little Haytham was eating - _if_ he could keep it down, because that wasn't always a given either – but twenty pounds? That wasn't good... not at all.

Nor did he understand what his own size had to do with anything. “Apparently not.” he muttered as he idly ran a hand down his stomach, feeling hard abdominal muscles underneath. It had been plenty stressful – his entire life was stressful – but it wasn't like that had ever really affected his weight in a negative way before. Besides, he knew how important it was to stick to a healthy diet to be able to do the things he needed to do and to give his body everything it needed, considering how much strain he put on it. “I don't really get what that has to do with my father though?”

-=-=-=-

Julien chuckled, a little noise that should make a keen stomach giddy. Haytham near rolled his eyes, tongue tracing the back of his teeth, an oral prison that he refused to open lest he direct Connor in the direction of the obvious. 

"Just a general question. I've no doubt you'll aid in your father's recovery and are concerned for his well being. It's important you're both in top shape for the task." He redirected his attention toward Haytham, who was much less smitten that he was mere seconds ago, arms now folded over his chest, ignoring the small protest of muscle. 

"Before you start a more... pardon, I am searching for the word... eh, exercise routine, we need to ensure your caloric intake is much higher. It is very good that you're not sedentary. We want to ensure no relapses or injury occur, which will happen if your exercise far exceeds your nutrition. Now, when you do exercise, is anyone present?"

"No, though not for lack of trying."

"Let someone stay with you, at least to spot you. I understand you may be use to more vigorous activity, and it can be frustrating. But if someone is nearby to gauge your activity level and your level of exertion, accidents are less likely. Prior to the robbery, were you very physically active?"

"Yes, I did exercise a bit."

"Good. If you and Connor exercised together, I would recommend following that routine, just more modified to fit your current guidelines."

Of course, the part Haytham dreaded had arrived, trying to test his boundaries without over exerting himself as his right leg was lifted, and he bent his knee to bring it to his chest. Knuckles whitened around the couch cushions, though he managed to get his knee to his chest without vomiting. 

A secret feat he'd not mention as his leg was lowered. 

"You're obviously still very tender in the area. I wouldn't use the elliptical for upwards climbs just yet, or not for extended periods. If something causes you this much pain, you shouldn't be doing it."

"Understood." He couldn't be doing leg lifts any time soon, as shame given his slowly morphing state. 

"Haytham, catch your breath for a moment. Connor, I did have a question about your routine. Would you mind showing me the room where you exercise, so I can take a look at the equipment or get a tutorial?"  
Had Haytham the ability to breathe, he would have done more than incredulously glare at the back of Julien's head.

-=-=-=-

… well _shit!_

His work out space was the _basement!_ He couldn't exactly march Julien in there when it also served as a place to stash all of their equipment. He'd _see,_ he'd question and he'd know, and that would put them all at risk.

This called for a very loud, inwardly screamed 'fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck'.

“Um, I could but... do you mind if... I kinda have to...” An excuse, he needed an excuse to buy time! “... bathroom break.” he finished lamely and spun on his heel, all but running out of the door and calling over his shoulder that he only needed five minutes. Everyone was still in the kitchen when he barged in with enough clamor that poor Paws, who'd been napping in Malik's lap, fled back outside with a frightened screech.

“Never mind that!” he snapped, ignoring Malik's glare. “The therapist guy wants to see where we work out, which is the _basement._ I managed to buy some time but I need everyone's help clearing it out of everything he's not allowed to see, and by everyone I mean _everyone.”_ He shot William a quick look as chairs scraped over the floor, the others quickly catching on and following him to the basement. William, nor Myriam, probably wouldn't want to be confronted with even more evidence of what they'd been up to like this, but as Connor kicked open the door leading into the basement and in his haste jumped down the few steps that followed, he was more than relieved and happy to see that both followed nonetheless and without complaint.

Moving everything out ultimately didn't take long at all; all the weapons were carefully wrapped in cloth and put into bags, as were all of their suits and gadgets. Plans were rolled up and laptops and hard drives were stashed away, taken back into the kitchen to be hidden there until they could find a better hiding place for it.

“Sorry about that.” Connor wheezed as he re-entered Haytham's bedroom and brushed a few strands of stubborn black hair out of his face. Okay, keep it cool. Nothing to worry about! “Okay um, this way. It's in the basement.”

The kitchen was suspiciously quiet as he led Julien past it on his way down and opened the door to let him in first. All that remained was their usual training equipment, various training machines, padded shields, weights and of course the various targets he used when he practiced his archery.

“Me, dad, Ezio and Altair are all quite into the whole fitness thing.” he muttered, uncomfortably shifting on his feet as Julien looked around.

Please don't have any weird questions. Please.

-=-=-=-

Haytham continued to glare, hearing everyone rush out of the kitchen. Well, everyone who was awake. Minutes later he heard he heard steps, a tousled looking Cristina entering his room and clutching her stuffed rabbit, rubbing her chin length bob into place. 

"Hey papa. You look pissed." She snuggled beside him, pedicured feet rolling under the nearest pillow in search of warmth. "What did Connor do now?"

"He's too dense to realize the physical therapist is flirting with him."

"Oh. And he should be flirting with you or somethin', right?"

Or something, but Haytham just nodded, arms crossing over his chest. 

"Want me to look into it?"

"Pardon?"

"Ya know, go downstairs and break it up? It's not like Connor is intentionally stealing your eye candy, he might be looking for a diversion at some point." She whispered suddenly. "I gotta be honest, I think Connor's asexual like I suspect Malik is. I've never seen him show interest in anyone. I mean, maybe he's a super refined demi-sexual but I'm thinking he doesn't want to be hit on. Just the vibe I get."

Haytham smiled. "He's not asexual, just very selective. Well, sometimes. Miriam and he used to date, and I believe there was a boyfriend prior to my arrival. In New York, I mean." Damn, close call, but Cristina didn't seem to realize it. "There was also a Bianca but that is another story."

"Huh. He should name his bow Bianca."

Haytham grimaced. 

Cristina laughed. "Relax, it's a video game reference. You need to play Dragon Age, you can be a lesbian or straight or gay. It's awesome, I'm always a lesbian. But I digress, I'll snoop for you." She stretched, adding before she tip toed. "And tell Altair he owes me a back rub. He kicks really hard."

Brows furrowed, but she was already gone.

~*~

"So what kind of exercise does a man of your size do, exactly?" Archery had been the answer, Julien nodding firmly. "I see, it explains your shoulders. As a physical therapist I note these things, and you do have uh, a muscular physique, but are particularly broad in the chest, back and shoulders."

Julien had requested more than one demonstration, for Haytham's sake. "I need to gauge what you are capable of, so I know what we can fine tune for Haytham."

Cristina just about rolled her eyes from her spot well outside the doorway, but waited, curious. It was kind of funny to watch Connor get flustered.

-=-=-=-

… he was shirtless.

Why the fuck was he shirtless?

No, he knew why; Julien had asked so he could compare his physical physique with Haytham's and use that knowledge to set up a work out plan for him, it would help him, no need to worry, he only needed a look.

Well okay... it was weird, and Connor couldn't see just _how_ him taking his shirt off would help, but Julien was a professional so...

His bow, customized by Leonardo, was stored away with the other weapons, but fortunately he still had his old compound bow from before stashed away in a cabinet. He'd look like an idiot not having a bow nearby after telling someone he practiced archery on a daily basis. He hadn't used his compound bow in years but because it had been his first bow, which had taken him over a year to save up for, it was still special to him and he took care to keep it in a good shape and well polished.

Fortunately he hadn't lost his touch with it yet, nailing the target dead center on the first try, though with more force than he'd meant to; he was so used to shooting with a recurve he'd forgotten that compounds didn't require as much strength to fire. Heh, whoops. He was lucky he hadn't broken anything.

“Dad doesn't practice archery though.” he said as he yanked his arrow out of the target and twirled it around in his fingers, turning only to find Julien was staring at him... or rather at his chest and stomach. 

Um... what? 

Lips pressed together he felt a flush creep up his face and blinked before clearing his throat. “I mean,” he resumed, louder now. “I don't mind demonstrating, but wouldn't it make more sense to have me do something that my dad does as well? So you can... I dunno, make a better comparison or something? I get you're the professional and all, but...”

-=-=-=-

Julien never got to respond to that comment. Cristina chose that moment to casually waltz in as if she hadn't been secretly spying on them, bunny in one hand and the other held out to Connor.

"There you are, sweet heart. Ooh, half naked already. I just woke up, how'd I get so lucky?" She turned politely to Julien, but tip toed up to Connor and kissed his cheek gently. "Honey, you're gonna get cold in the dead of winter. Put your clothes on before you go back upstairs, you'll catch your death." Courtesy of your dad, but she left that unsaid. Connor was just too thick to get what was happening, like some overly innocent man sized child.

It was cute. Her behavior probably confused him but she'd explain out of ear shot.

"You must be Julien. Haytham is not feeling very well, do you think you could come back another time? He sent me down here to get Connor."

"… But of course. I had not realized Connor was..."

Her lashed fluttered. "We keep it a secret from the tabloids. It's so invasive to have them poking around."

"Of course. Well, I will check up on Haytham and then be on my way. I will call for a follow up in a few days."

"Of course, thank you for stopping in." She waited until Julien's footsteps faded away and rolled her eyes, staring at Connor. 

"Your dad is so maaaaad that his eye candy was flirting with your dumb ass. Do you always get half naked for physical therapists? Bleh. Frenchy McFrench wanted to French your biceps."

-=-=-=-

His face was flaming. “I knew he was flirting!” Connor sputtered and quickly turned around to put his bow away, zipping the bag shut with such force he almost tore it off. Of course Julien had been flirting with him. He'd totally noticed before, totally!

Fucking shit.

“I pretended not to realize in the hopes he would stop.” he grumbled, still not looking at Cristina, and silently bristled at her giggling. Placing his bow's carrier bag back into the cabinet Connor sighed and flexed his fingers, an agitated hunch in his shoulders. 

So... dad was jealous. If there was one thing he hated it was dad being jealous, because the last time that had happened it ended with Haytham literally kicking him out of the house. Haytham handled jealousy even more poorly than he did loss and that was truly saying something. And he was entitled to be angry, sure, but Connor hoped that didn't extent to him this time. He honestly, truly hadn't noticed that Julien had been _flirting_ with him. It wasn't his fault he wasn't skilled at reading people. That was more Leonardo's area of expertise!

“I'll talk to him.” he mumbled after a while and closed the cabinet door. “Both of them, I mean. I'll tell Julien to stop, and... I'll tell dad that there's nothing to be jea-... mad about. And I'll tell William it's probably best to find another therapist for him, to avoid any future...” unnecessary bouts of completely unwarranted jealousy. “... arguments.”

-=-=-=-

Cristina said nothing, casting a side glance but otherwise silent and leading the way towards the kitchen, throwing her bunny at Altair. "Why do you kick so hard?"

Altair just blinked, confused. Julien sat opposite of him, talking to William and,both sets of eyes darted to Connor as he entered. "-I think he'll bore himself with his current regiment pretty quickly. Be sure to keep his exercise interesting but within his capabilities. When he's up for another visit, just give me a call. We'll work out a schedule." 

"I think he'd like that."

"Mm. Connor was of great assistance, showing me his routine. So much so, Connor, I'd lake to take you out for coffee as a thank you. If Cristina does not mind."

Williams brows furrowed. "Why would she mind?" No, that wasn't the person who would mind but Connor was an adult, he could handle himself.

-=-=-=-

A deep sigh. He'd hoped Julien would have left already, but no. No William, dad wouldn't like that. At all. None whatsoever. “Okay, look...” Running a hand through his hair Connor glanced at Cristina, who had seated herself next to Altair and offered him a small nod and a barely noticeable smile.

“I think you may have the wrong impression of me. Us. Cristina and I aren't together-” Behind him Altair bristled and was already halfway out of his seat with a scowl on his face before Cristina placed her hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down, explaining to him under her breath what was going on. 

“- but I'm not interested, okay? So please stop.” This was awkward. Ugh and everyone was staring as well. He hated turning people down, not that it had happened often, but it was difficult and made him feel bad, even though it had to be said. “I'd rather you only focus on my father's recovery. Keep it professional and stuff.” he finished lamely and turned around to face the door. “I'm gonna check on dad. William, you'll handle this?”

“Uh, sure, Connor. But what-” But he'd already left the kitchen, leaving without offering an explanation. Climbing the stairs with an agitated huff Connor knocked on the master bedroom door and entered. His face still felt flushed and he hoped Haytham wouldn't comment on it, but one look at his father, curled up around a pillow on the bed with his back towards the door, quickly chased those thoughts away.

“Dad, what's wrong?” he asked and quickly hurried around the bed and kneeling down, placing a hand on Haytham's shoulder.

-=-=-=-

Haytham flinched, retracting briefly. "Waffles, evidently." Or waffle, half of one to be exact. No fault of William's no matter how mediocre. He simply couldn't wallow in the living room for that long without questions and stares and it was just irritating. 

"So, Julien." Was he being petty, wrapped around his pillow yet still throwing salt as if he were trying to ward off snails? Probably. Did it make him feel better? To be determined by Connor's answer.

Fingers twisted around the pillowcase. "He seems like he may be interested in a number of things, one of them being you. At what point did it occur to you that he was, in fact, flirting with you or did Cristina, in fact, stop the onslaught? Normally I'd be handling this more passionately but there's a distinct and possible need to run to the bathroom within the next few moments that may require assistance and I'd rather not piss you off too terribly."

-=-=-=-

Ha, of course. The waffles. Figures. It really wasn't that funny though, but he tried not to feel too worried about it. It was just that, with Haytham's rapid weight loss and his inability to keep most things down, and when he did he it only caused pain and discomfort...

Connor offered a nervous chuckle and averted his eyes, briefly biting his lip. “Eh, Cristina may have um... needed to jump in. Unfortunately he didn't really get the hint though.” Shifting closer Connor sat on the bed next to Haytham's legs and reached out to pluck a strand of pepper grey out of Haytham's eyes, pushing it behind his ear. “He tried again in the kitchen just now, asked if I wanted to get a coffee with him.” He shrugged. 

“I told him I wasn't interested and that he should stop, and keep it professional. I left it to William to handle, and I kinda hope he'll get someone else. Julien may come recommended but it's just gonna be weird from now on.”

Smirking he leaned forward, bracing one of his hands against the bed behind Haytham's head and nipped at his ear lobe. “I suppose I should feel flattered this time.” he purred. “For once your jealousy is kinda endearing but you really shouldn't have worried. I only belong to _one_ person.”

And that led him to the next topic he wanted to discuss, but one look at Haytham's pale, sweaty face and Connor knew that this wasn't the right time. “Soooo... bathroom?”

-=-=-=-

"I'm not jealous." He didn't even believe that. It didn't matter. Connor was his, Julien was gone, and he was correct. Julien was not coming back.

"I'll try to keep it down. To be honest, Connor, I'd rather not attempt another physical therapist. I'm sure I'll manage without one. But, I... think I should consult a physician. I cannot express how painful this is, and I fear perhaps it's necrotic... but I lack any other symptom save for severe pain-" he muttered, heat tinting either cheek "-and constipation. I wish one of the sticks some many have accused me of having up there actually _was_ so I could alleviate this myself."

But that was another story, Haytham turning to face his son, clutching the pillow tighter as it aggravated his side. "After this passes I'll ask William to take me. Maybe there's a restricted diet I should try, because this isn't working."

~*~

It took longer than he'd expected, and he surely hadn't wanted to stay overnight for observation, but it was senseless not to. 

He wasn't necrotic, thankfully. No signs of infection, though he was swelling in the area, and glycogen synthesis was almost non existent, making him tire out. Carbohydrates were not being digested properly, and the jogging he was doing did not help.

He was hooked to an IV rather miserably after they confirmed he was malnourished.

At least he was released the following morning, with a bunch of instructions. Heavy on the fruits, heavy on the whole grains, light on anything he was craving, because god forbid he could handle eating a lemon poppy seed muffin.

Nothing embarrassed him more than the infantile Pedialite he was stuck with, as well as some other crap he'd little intention of using unless forced. 

Which was sure to happen given Connor's mounting concern.

"Sorry, lad." For all of this, but mostly for making Connor look after him when their focus should be the next den. Hundreds of people, maybe thousands waited on their next move, and here he was, sorrow filled and unable to properly defecate.  
"You sure you wouldn't prefer a date with Julien? He was rather dashing and could probably keep out of the hospital for more than a week." It was said with a forced smile.

-=-=-=-

Connor made a face at that, grimacing at Haytham's choice of words. “No.” It was said with a definitive tone. Putting down the list the hospital had given them with things Haytham was recommended to eat and avoid he sighed. This was to be expected too, the uncertainty Haytham would have, and while a part of him definitely understood another part of him was saddened that Haytham didn't have that trust in him.

Of course he wouldn't leave to go on a date with another guy, even if it was someone he liked (which he didn't). Where before he had slept with Haytham as well as another person at the same time, because he'd thought what they had was a purely sexual thing with no real strings attached, he knew better now. What he had with his father now ran so much deeper, and he wouldn't even _consider_ for a second taking off with someone else and leaving Haytham to fend for himself.

Connor knew he was many things, and knew he wasn't the sharpest tool in the proverbial shed either but damn it all, he was committed! And he liked to think that he was loyal, and had no intention of leaving Haytham for someone else. Knowing Haytham though, he needed some solid proof, an actual gesture of good faith to ease his worries and soothe his fears. Especially now.

Soon. Really soon. 

“Actually, I was thinking... and it's just a suggestion and you don't have to decide right now but... do you think we could maybe tell the others about... us?” His fingers toyed with the drawstring of his hoodie; it was a clear sign that he was nervous, needing to keep his fingers busy with something, anything, as he finally brought up what he'd been wanting to say for a while now.

“Not right now! But it's because I... so much in our life is done in absolute secrecy, you know? We're keeping so many secrets from the public, we're even keeping secrets from our friends and... I don't want to keep our private life a secret anymore, if possible. I don't want to hide anymore, dad. I... I want to be able to hold your hand and kiss you and do all those things without having to always look over my shoulder and make sure no one is around. I don't want to have to worry that someone will see. And I don't know how they'll react but I have a feeling that Ezio and Cristina are already suspecting something anyway... but yeah, like I said, you don't have to give me an answer right now. If you're not comfortable with it that's fine too. Just think about it? For however long you need.”

Managing a wry smile Connor dropped his hands and shoved them in the pockets of his jeans... and then he smirked. “Alsooooo you should get a suit ready. Before Friday. For reasons.”

-=-=-=-

It was a jest, Connor.

Mostly. Sort of.

He couldn't help but wonder if Connor would be happier with someone who wasn't currently a drain, but he shoved it aside. Well, as best he could anyway. 

He couldn't do much to occupy his mind, and that perhaps was worse than anything; it made him think of things he shouldn't. Grey glanced Connor's way, unsure.

"Connor, I..." A sigh. "I don't know, lad. I understand the want for it, and I'm touched you're not embarrassed by this- " me. Of me. Of my age. Of everything betraying me this past month, of this horrible path I'm going down. "-relationship, but I'm not certain how everyone would react. I do agree, some are more suspicious than others, and Leonardo can be added to your list, but until it's confirmed it's only hypothetical. They could very well disappear from our lives and all of this would have been for naught.

"… But, it would be nice, trusting everyone I've grown fond of with this. Admittedly, I'd like much of the same." Snatching Connor's hand from his pocket, he drew circles on his palm. "I'll consider it... more so after you tell me what I need a suit for, exactly? Is there something I've forgotten? Some charity event perhaps?" He was never good at attending those without reminders, he just wasn't particularly fond of them.

-=-=-=-

That was a confidence booster. At least he wasn't entirely against the idea, though Connor could understand his reluctance. It was a reluctance he shared. He still vividly remembered William's reaction and how opposed he'd been – though of course there was a big difference between telling someone he was in an incestuous relationship with his own father, and having someone _walk in_ on them in the act.

After explaining it to him though, and to Myriam as well... they understood, and Connor could only hope that the others would understand as well.

If Haytham wanted to go through with it. But that was for later.

“No.” he said softly, closing the distance between them. “You haven't forgotten anything.” His free hand reached for Haytham's collar and tugged him closer, enough to bridge the inches left between them, licking the seam between lips with his tongue before he plunged it in. Rough and messy, sucking on his tongue and running his own over the roof of his mouth, a string of saliva connected them as he broke apart with a gasp and licked his lips, breaking the strand.

“But telling you would ruin the surprise.” he purred, letting go of Haytham's collar to slide his hand down his father's back and lightly patting the curve of his ass as he offered another light pick on his lips. “So no. Just get a suit ready.”

-=-=-=-

What just happened?

One second his brows had knit together as he tried to figure out what Connor spoke of and then the next he was... foggy.

Gasping into their kiss, Haytham's cat-like movement into the touch was borderline desperate, even if the light pat to what remained of his rump brought a startled noise from him.

Okay, just when the hell did his lad pull stunts like this? It made it difficult to fight, let alone say something witty. He gave up, fingering Connor's collar bone.

"I'll need to get it tailored a bit, but I'm sure that can be rushed." The navy blue one, a white shirt as black would make him look too thin. He'd a striped tie that would match it nicely, white and blue but the horizontal lines were at an incline, a small split of silver in between.

Lips twitched suddenly, Haytham's curiosity piqued. "Is this a surprise? Is that why I'm being kissed breathless? Well, bravo lad. That's a smart tactic and I would continue to make use of it."

Or, in Haytham speak, kiss me again. It made him forget the other nonsense for a moment.

-=-=-=-

“Maybe?” Connor purred in response as he let go of Haytham's collar and slid that hand around him as well, dipping tantalizingly low. “Feel free to keep on guessing. You'll see this Friday.” And in the mean time... he would indulge his father some more. It was an easy request he didn't mind fulfilling at all.

~*~

In the days that followed Haytham kept trying to weasel some answers out of him, but Connor stubbornly kept his mouth shut, shutting his father up with more kisses and fleeting touches promising of more – he knew that _that_ was likely the reason Haytham kept asking. It was amusing in a way, and sad in another, that Haytham was so desperate for positive attention. It just made him more determined to make his surprise on Friday one that Haytham would never forget.

Leonardo had gone with him to pick up a new suit for himself. He still owned one, but it was the one he'd worn on Ziio's funeral. Not only did it not feel right to wear it for what would hopefully be a happy occasion, it would likely be too small for him by now anyway, heh.

The one he'd ended up picking was one he wouldn't have chosen for himself if it hadn't been for Leonardo's encouragement that he would look great in it and that Haytham would definitely approve. The suit was white, not blindingly white but more an off-white color bordering on very light cream, and this wasn't a damn wedding he was planning. Combine it with the tie in the same color and the green dress shirt - _green_ of all colors – and Connor really couldn't see it working out that way, but Leonardo seemed to love it and if he couldn't trust his opinion he couldn't trust anyone.

“Don't forget your tickets, Mr. Fancy McCreamy Pants.” Ezio snerked as he followed Connor down the stairs, hands laced together behind his head.

“I would never.” Connor patted the pocket of his jacket. “They're right here, safe and sound.” He slipped his hand inside nonetheless, feeling the envelope that contained the two tickets to tonight's surprise. He knew they were in there but he kept checking every five minutes anyway; what a disappointment he'd be to his father if he forgot their _tickets,_ or god forbid, lost them.

Leonardo would take up the role of chauffeur, and Cristina was upstairs helping Haytham to get ready. Hopefully he'd be done soon... five minutes and then they would really have to leave or they'd be late.

“You look fuckin' weird in a suit, man.” Altair grumbled, Socks draped over his shoulder like a hairy scarf as he looked him up and down.

“I know.” Connor muttered and he scrutinized his expression in the full length mirror. He could imagine Myriam's reaction but fortunately, she and William had taken a flight back to New York two days prior. “I feel like the white is too bright. I dunno.” Grimacing he fingered the tie, resisting the urge to pull it loose. It felt too constricting, why would anyone wear these on a daily basis and not go completely insane? Crazy fancy suits, that's who. Leonardo had also recommended taking out the feathers he always wore in his hair, but Connor had blatantly refused.

He liked the feathers, and so did dad. They were staying.

-=-=-=-

"You have really nice hair. It's super easy to braid. They say grey can be a little rough but it's pretty soft."

"Thank you, I condition regularly." Obsessively actually, because he too had heard the same. He'd grown marginally better at dressing himself, like hell he'd ask anyone to do that for him. No, but she could do his hair, and help with the cuff links. Not so much because he needed it, but- 

"You are so jittery."

"I'm not accustomed to surprise." Needless to say, he about bounced on the balls of his feet. About. Nearly. Maybe he caught himself doing just that and tried to stop as Cristina took note and giggled. "You're so cute. I've never seen you like this." She straightened his tie, fluttering her lashes. "Getting all dolled up for your gift. I swear it's like you two are going to prom."

Haytham laughed, a little too loudly. "No, just very happy to be getting out."

"Mm. Well, you look adorable. I've never seen a guy with so many matching ties and suit jackets, let alone socks and cuff links."

"Color coordination is exceptionally important."

"Of course. And you look cute. But wear your damn glasses or you'll miss the show."

Begrudgingly he did, if only to avoid needing to take them out again. And because they were near late, Haytham strolling down the stairs and offering a grin.

One that near doubled as he glanced Connor's way. "… There is no way you picked that out for yourself."

"I did." Leonardo piped up. Haytham's grin deepened. He'd the feeling his face might split in two.

"I love it. Green is perfect. Oh and the white goes so well with your complexion, lad.... is, is that a tie? It's perfect, the same shade even. I'm very impressed, and very, very curious. Am I to close my eyes on the way as well?"

-=-=-=-

“I'm glad you approve.” Leonardo's hunch had been correct after all. Briefly touching the tie once more Connor stepped forward and reached for Haytham's hand, not caring if anyone thought it odd, and squeezed. “Shall we then? Don't wanna be late.”

“Have fun amigos.” Ezio snorted, crossing his arms over his chest as Leonardo opened the front door. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“No promises.” Connor smirked, still holding onto Haytham's hand as they followed Leonardo outside, into the brisk evening chill of winter.  
Their car was already parked out front and as Leonardo opened one of the backseat doors he bowed, unable to hide the amused grin on his face. “Good evening, gentlemen. I'll be your chauffeur for this night.” He'd offered. Also because Haytham was in no condition to drive, and Connor balked at the mere idea of taking a seat behind the wheel and braving English traffic. So much nope.

Connor took a seat in the back next to Haytham as Leonardo climbed behind the wheel, turning on the radio and dialing down the volume just enough it wouldn't become distracting. Not that this would be a particularly long drive, and as he pulled away from their home Connor leaned closer to his father and whispered. “Yes, I do want you to close your eyes, keep the surprise a little bit longer.”

Fortunately he did, and Connor could see the pleased smile on his face. Leonardo's eyes twinkled in the reflection of the rear view mirror as he maneuvered through the busy London traffic on a Friday night, and the closer they got to the Royal Albert Hall, the busier it got. Not surprising. He would drop them off close by and pick them up again after the show.

“Keep 'm closed.” Connor whispered and squeezed Haytham's hand, removing the envelope containing their tickets out of his pocket with the other. The car came to a stop shortly after, parking next to the curb and Leonardo turned in his seat and nodded. 

Licking his lips Connor took a deep breath to ease his nerves, trying to ignore that stupid nagging feeling in the back of his mind that kept asking him what would happen if Haytham didn't like what he had picked. It was stupid of course... there was no way he wouldn't like it... but even so. “Kay...” He pushed he envelop into his father's hand. This was it. “Open them.”

-=-=-=-

Connor...

He probably shouldn't be holding his hand like that, should he? But who was Haytham to turn him away, when he again felt so incredibly warm?

He chuckled gently at Leonardo's words, taking his seat in the back of the car, and shut his eyes as requested. A challenge, given how badly he wished to peek, lips twitched up in a constant state of enjoyment as he felt the vehicle start and stop more often until finally, an envelope was pushed into his hand.

"Kay... open them."

Shaky hands slowly opened the envelope, fingering each ticket curiously before he pulled them out, taking a little breath and-

Eyes widened, mouth agape as he read them again and again, until he finally grinned. His face threatened to tear under a grin that large, cheeks aching as he unbuckled his seat belt and threw his arms around Connor's shoulders.

"How did you even get these?! Lad, I haven't been to Cirque du Soleil since I was a teenager, and that wasn't even in London!"

But why? 

It wasn't his birthday. They didn't really celebrate anniversaries. Connor certainly couldn't stand to gain any sexual favors, no matter how Haytham wished to provide so very, very many.

"I have no idea what to say. Obviously, thank you, thank you! I love it, oh this is one of the few shows I think we'd both enjoy but..." I've been such a pain, a thorn in your side. Why bother to do something this nice? Why?

"Why? Why offer this? I can't think of anything I've offered... it's a very touching gesture, is all... but..."

-=-=-=-

To say he was surprised by Haytham's reaction would be an understatement; Connor had not expected to be literally tackle hugged, a grunt escaping him as Haytham's weight crashed into his chest. “Aye, careful there, dad!” His stitches!

His arms wound around his father nonetheless, the smirk returned almost rivaling his. Haytham liked it! He more than liked it! His reaction was better than anything he would have dared to hope for.

Though of course, Haytham being Haytham, he would ask why. “Well...” Connor began, still very much aware of Leonardo's presence in the car; he wouldn't be able to say everything he wanted to say but that didn't mean he couldn't save those words for later tonight, once they were back home in the privacy of their room after a successful night of fun.

“A wise old man in Russia once said,” Oh don't gave him that look, heh. “There is nothing wrong with giving a gift for the sake of giving. Doing something nice for someone simply because you can. Or... something to that effect anyway.

“I did this because I wanted to, dad. No other reason. Well, also partly because, with how rough things have been... I know you're struggling and I just... wanted to help you forget for a bit. To do something that you would hopefully enjoy and look back to after tonight and remember with fond memories. That is what I hope for anyway. But I already planned on doing something like this for you even before we went into the den. You do so much for us, for me, and you never ask for anything in return... you deserve someone spoiling you for a change and it's long overdue.”

And again in the future, because this certainly wouldn't be a one-of-a-kind event as far as Connor was concerned... not now he'd seen how happy it made Haytham.

He was still pressed up against him and Connor's fingers twitched, so eager to pull him in for a kiss, to run his fingers through salt and pepper colored hair, to pull loose the tie that kept it tied back so neatly.

“Cirque du Soleil was a guess but...” Connor couldn't help it, lips splitting into a smirk. “I like to think I know you by now.”

-=-=-=-

"Wise old man? Was he handsome too?" Meek, that's how it sounded in comparison to the symphony of nicety caressing his ear.

Someone spoiling him was deserved? Teeth marked his bottom lip, Haytham casting Leonardo a glance. Perhaps he did. Whether he believed it was irrelevant, it was Connor's decision after all, as his lover. The thought sent an odd shiver up his spine, the likes of which he'd never felt. William worried for him, so did some others, but never like this. Haytham grew drunk in the look in his son's eyes, the decision spontaneous but so very right.

"Leonardo, you may want to close your eyes. Consider your suspicions confirmed."

It wasn't messy, considering the company. A lingering kiss rendered itself on full lips, Haytham gripping the back of Connor's head to keep him in place. There was no point in hiding any longer. They should know the truth. No one would care for him as Connor could.

Lips pressed closer, and his tongue delved in but chaste. Haytham parted soon after, pressing his forehead to Connor's. "I love you. Thank you."

-=-=-=-

Uh, wait wait wait, what about L-

Too late. Soft lips descended upon his own, the kiss gentle and tender. The hand in his hair kept him from moving – not that he wanted to – with a grip that was firm but not painful, and Connor's eyes fluttered shut as he leaned back into the kiss with equal fervor and breathed out a pleased sigh.

And they were watched. Connor was well aware of it, feeling the eyes on him, burning with their gaze. While he was still of the opinion that they should tell the others about them sometime soon, this wasn't quite how he imagined it would go.

His hands were resting in the small of Haytham's back when the kiss broke, and with the softly spoken words that followed he near drowned in the wave of warmth and emotion that washed over him. Sure felt that way anyway. 

_Keep it together, Connor._ he mentally berated himself and swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat, opting to instead glance Leonardo's way with a look that was almost shy and embarrassed. Leonardo, who had one arm braced against the backseat, chin resting in the palm of his hand as he looked at them with an expression that just screamed pleased amusement.

Not at all the kind of expression once would expect to see on someone who'd just witnessed a father passionately snogging his own son.

“S-so... uh...” Connor stammered, face quickly reddening under Leonardo's watchful stare, and he offered a helpless shrug. “This wasn't part of the plan.”

“Duly noted.” the blonde mused and his smirk widened.

“You... you don't mind? I mean,” His fingers toyed with the back of Haytham's jacket as he struggled to find the right words. “you're not... bothered by it?”

Leonardo shrugged and straightened in his seat, fixing his beret with one hand as he flopped the other their way. “No, it's not hurting anyone. I'm sure you have your reasons and while I'll admit I am mighty curious as to what led to this, I won't pry. Nor will I tell the others, it's not my story to share. If this is what makes you two happy, then who am I to judge? Besides,” The grin returned full force, bright blue eyes twinkling with mirth as he glanced at Haytham. “I can see the appeal.”

-=-=-=-

"I do believe I requested you hadn't looked." Haytham fluttered his lashes, matching Leonardo's amusement.

"Oh, I heard you, but I'm going to look."

Haytham near snorted, straightening Connor's tie with a smile that reached his eyes. "I figured you had suspected such, what with the commentary at the hospital. Though, I perhaps should have asked Connor for his opinion about how we should break the news." Sorry. Or not. It worked out well enough. "You needn't flatter me either, though I appreciate the nicety."

"Haytham, if you believe a surgery makes you any less attractive to anyone, you're very incorrect." Blue eyes twinkled. "And that comment was directed at both of you." 

Well, he was sufficiently, dare he say, near giggling. "Were we not on the verge of tardiness, I would explain the tale. It will have to wait, though, perhaps if you're free later, we'll share." But for now, he wanted his front row seats, and to try a soda. He did keep down soda and seltzer.

"Of course. Have fun, and call me when you're ready."

It was chilly, Haytham pressing his shoulder to Connor's in a blatant attempt to make use of his temperature. "I should have asked you if that was alright. My apologies, but I knew he knew." Haytham whispered in Connor's ear. "He made a comment in regards to you calling me 'daddy'."

-=-=-=-

Connor sputtered loudly at that. He what?? “When? When did he say that??” Hell, when had Leonardo _ever_ heard him referring to Haytham as 'daddy'? That wasn't exactly something he blurted out for everyone to hear! Oh he'd never be able to look at Leonardo in the same way again. Just how was it that Leonardo just seemed to know _everything_ that was going on? Haytham didn't seem _too_ embarrassed about it though; pursing his lips Connor wrapped an arm around his father's shoulder, letting him lean against him all he wanted.

“It's fine. I didn't really expect it but... it's fine. He took it well, no? If the others react in a similar fashion I'm not worried at all.” Not much anyway. Just a little. Maybe. He wasn't sure how Altair would react, the man was so protective of Haytham, it was hard to predict what the Syrian would think of this. Malik... Malik was so down to earth, Connor had a feeling he wouldn't make much of a fuss about it, no matter what he thought. Ezio would probably need some serious explaining but in the end, he'd probably understand, for the most part. Cristina... Cristina he didn't worry about at all. She's already seen so much weird shit in her life, this was probably nothing.

“I definitely feel better about it all, knowing that Leonardo knows and has our backs.” He supported them, and that was a great feeling.

The closer they got to the Royal Albert Halls, the more evident it became just how popular Cirque du Soleil truly was. This place was gonna be packed. Connor had seen their shows before... on youtube. Never in person, and as he handed their tickets over his mounting excitement reached new heights. It was hard to tell who was more excited, him or his dad!

-=-=-=-

"Stop fidgeting so much, good gracious." As if he could muster the strength to say that seriously when he himself hardly managed to stop from bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

What a day... acceptance and a show for no other reason than the sake of being nice. It was the most human he'd felt since Siberia, and he waved any slow to creep ill thoughts from his mind, Connor following behind him as they took his seat, so close to the circular stage he fathomed the possibility of touching a performer, though he lacked the tactlessness to do so. 

~*~

He'd been a little frightened at the shows duration. Haytham was accustomed to growing tired so easily as of late. Instead a joyous urgency to stay awake filled him as he pushed Connor to hurry on his behalf to the back stage. This had worked last time, maybe it could work again...

"C'mon lad, c'mon." Oh, there he was, standing , obviously flushed because Connor was nothing if not shy and- 

She _was_ there!

He shouldn't make the little noise he made and sped-walked as best he could, unafraid of asking the question. "Irina Akimova, you were astonishing this evening, and I am sorry to intrude on what must be a very busy night, but may I have your autograph, please?"

Two for two. Haytham gripped his now signed ticket closer- it had helped she recognized him, and asked about his injury- before signing the paper and asking him to visit Russia again sometime. "Just maybe not Lake Baikal. Try Moscow, or St. Petersburg instead."

"I very well may, the actions of a few are hardly representative of a country."

"Very true. And, Haytham, if you are ever in Atlanta, you can visit."

"You reside in the States? I do miss New York from time to time myself-"

And so on their conversation went for several minutes before a crowd had begun to gather, Ms. Akimova slipping back into the building while Haytham damn near skipped. 

"This is not the first time being well known has helped me, but it may very well be one of the best!" He really needed to stop hugging Connor so hard, coughing into his shoulder for a moment. 

"I knew you'd manage to slip away faster than anyone else. Damn this injury. Oh but perhaps it was the pity points that got me the autograph. Who knows. I hardly even care any longer, I am framing this when we get home, lad."

-=-=-=-

“I guess being a celebrity does have its perks.” Connor mused as he eyed the autograph on his ticket before carefully putting it back inside the envelope for safekeeping. He didn't know any of the names of that artists that performed tonight, and the name Irina Akimova hadn't really rang a bell either, but she truly must be something if Haytham had specifically sought her out. Honestly, they'd all been spectacular.

“I'm glad you had fun,” Connor mused as he returned the hug and pulled out his phone with one hand to quickly text Leonardo. “This is definitely worth repeating.” If it weren't for the injury, he would take Haytham somewhere to get something hot to drink. Dinner even. But he knew that that would be too much; as excited as Haytham still was Connor had no doubt that he had to be tired after such a lengthy show.

No it was best to go back home and make him his favorite tea and retreat back to the privacy of their room, for something more quiet and less demanding, whether that was sleep or to talk or watch TV or whatever Haytham wanted.

They didn't have to wait long; Leonardo honked as he neared the curb where they were waiting and stopped, opening the passenger door with a grin. “And? How was it?”

“Great! Dad was behaving like a kid in a candy store.” Ignoring the look that earned him Connor snorted and quickly slipped into the backseat. “He slipped backstage and got autographs.” he explained at Leonardo's bemused eyebrow raise. “Ina Aki-something?”

“Oh! Irina Akimova?”

“Yeah, that's her.”

“I love her! You got her autograph, Haytham? Oh you better show me when we get home!” 

Connor was quick to zone out the following conversation as Leonardo pulled away from the curb and prattled on about that one time he'd seen Irina perform when Cirque du Soleil was in Rome a few years ago. A quick glance at his phone told him it was a little passed ten now; still far too early for bed, though it wasn't unusual for Haytham to do so at this hour, needing the rest. Perhaps he wouldn't even want tea when they got home. He'd ask when they got there.

Pulled out of his thoughts Connor looked up as a firetruck shot passed them with blaring sirens and frowned. Oh, must be a fire somewhere. It wasn't unusual, kids messing around with fireworks far sooner than they should and accidentally – or not – setting stuff ablaze.

More sirens, a police car this time, and Connor straightened in his seat. It was going the same way they were, turning the corner shortly before Leonardo did, and in the far distance he could see the bright flashing blue of the firetruck's lights mixing in with the deep orange of-

“Cazzo di merda!” The car jerked forward as Leonardo suddenly slammed on the gas with enough force to press his passengers into their seats.

“L-leo!” Connor gasped, holding onto his seat tightly as the car raced forward down the street they lived in. The tires screeched loudly as Leonardo applied the breaks and fiddled with his seat belt in his haste to get out, and Connor could only stare at their house with wide open eyes, and the bright flames that burst out of the windows of their shared room.

-=-=-=-

He didn't make a sound, not as the firetruck nor officers sped down their street. Not as his seat belt grew uncomfortably tight with sudden exertion, not as he pulled up to once again bear witness to flames licking his window. 

He blinked, fingering the ticket in his pocket as the roar of the flames drowned all other sounds out. Connor was frantic, as was Leonrado, both of them already out of the car. Haytham watched a flurry of ash waft in the wind, the smolder of whatever he held dear in that room ablaze. His old family photo album, the toy soldier Connor gave him, a few VHS tapes he'd hidden away for safe keeping. How many of those were left, if any?

"Haytham?" 

He could remember much of the same thoughts so very many years ago, though his thoughts lingered to his mother, father, and sister then. Grey flittered towards his family on the lawn, safe, secure. Very unlike the last family.

"Haytham?"

"Mm?" 

Grave concern lingered over Leonardo's face. The door of the car had been open for nearly a minute and he'd yet to get out. But Haytham just stared, stared as firemen attempted to put out the flames, as that burning smell reacquainted itself with his nostrils, and how he once again danced on the very edge of drowning.

"Are-" He wasn't okay, obviously, but Leonardo had to ask: "- you all right? Cognitive?"

"Am I aware of my room smoldering a few feet away, my family on the front lawn, of the cold, of my abdominals aching, or of the massive amount of questions I'll be answering to authorities? Yes, I am aware. But, if it's alright with you, I'd like a few minutes longer of pretending I'm not."

-=-=-=-

Even from this safe distance the heat on his face was almost unbearable, and the bright light hurt his eyes. What got to Connor the most though was the noise. That unholy roar of the flames. The best he could compare it to was very loud hail on stone and metal; it was awful, it hurt to listen to and he couldn't drown it out.

Connor was barely aware of Ezio's presence next to him, Socks in his arms. Barely noticed Cristina crying into Altair's shoulder as Malik stood next to them with the most sullen dark look he'd ever seen on his face so far as he held onto Paws tightly.

So many questions ran through his head. How. Why? And he didn't have the answer. It was only the room he shared with Haytham that was on fire but as much as his mind struggled to come up with a reason to cause this inferno, he could only draw blanks.

But no matter how it had started, what dawned on him next was a realization so horrid he desperately tried to ban the thoughts from his mind the second they came up, to no avail. All of the sudden, it was like he couldn't stop thinking about it, and the need to say it out loud, to get it out, was overwhelming. “That could have been us.”

Barely more than a whisper, and yet Ezio caught the words over the sirens and the flames. “What?”

Connor swallowed, squinting in an attempt to shield his eyes from the heat, and repeated. “Us. If I hadn't... if dad and I hadn't gone out, we... we likely would have been in that room when-” when the fire started.

They would have been in there. It could have been them, burning.


End file.
